


The Lottery

by Isarnicole



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Romance, F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, War, everlark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:42:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 67,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28837995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isarnicole/pseuds/Isarnicole
Summary: Everlark.  Panem AU.Katniss and Peeta were never reaped.  The rebellion began when they were children and war raged until they were 16 years old.  Now, two years after the end of the war the population of Panem is near extinction.  A repopulation program known as The Lottery is established.  With her mother and father dead, no money, and no job prospects, Katniss is desperate.  It is either join The Lottery or lose Prim.  She never expects to be partnered with the boy who saved her life.
Relationships: Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair, Katniss Everdeen/Gale Hawthorne, Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark, Primrose Everdeen/Rory Hawthorne
Comments: 160
Kudos: 252





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came to me one night and I haven't been able to let it go. I don't know if anyone will like it. It's hard to summarize without giving away too many plot points. Please feel free to let me know what you think. I'm not sure if I should continue it or scrap it.
> 
> I'm also still working on An Unexpected Life as well. There is only about 2 more chapters left in that one though. 
> 
> I apologize in advance for any typos or grammatical errors!

I wish we had a mirror. The reflection from this window is warped, dirty and dusty. The dress I’m wearing looks brown even though I know it’s white. Well, once upon a time it was white. I’ve seen a photograph of it. My mother smiling brightly dressed in this beautiful, white dress. There were flowers in her hair. My father looking down at her, a smile on his face and adoration in his eyes. The dress has yellowed a bit with age which is fine by me. No one really wears white dresses anymore. Some people don’t wear dresses at all, showing up in their normal, threadbare clothes and signing the paperwork. There’s no fanfare. No music. No celebration. There are still tears sometimes, but they aren’t the happy sort. 

Prim will be home from school soon. I’m thankful that the school opened back up a few years ago and Prim could go back. I stopped going shortly after I turned eleven when the bombs were dropped and the mine caved in. A shiver rolls over me when I think about my father trapped gasping for air as the oxygen ran out in the dark, dank holes drilled into the earth. He might have been killed quickly. I hope he was. No one knows for sure because the entrance to the mine collapsed entombing the workers inside. My mother became a shell of herself after that. She still got up each day and treated the wounded that were brought to her, but she was never the same. 

A few weeks after my father died and the food ran out, I braved the bombs and the gunfire and crept like a predator in the night through the darkened, war torn streets and alleyways scavenging for scraps like a mangy wild dog. I was able to keep us alive this way, but just barely. By early spring Prim and I were so rail thin I had to make belts out of twine I had found tied to a post to hold our clothes up. If it wouldn’t have been for the boy and the bread we would be dead. That bread gave me the strength to slip into the woods and hunt alone for the first time. The chill from winter hadn’t faded and the noise from the fighting made even the meager cold weather game scarce. I was lucky if I shot one squirrel a day, but we survived. I’ve seen the boy many times throughout the years, always releasing a breath I didn’t notice I had been holding when I realized he was still alive. I owed him my life and I’ve never been able to pay him back or even mutter a quiet thank you. I’ve tried. I’ve made it as far as the back steps to the bakery before running home with my proverbial tail between my legs cursing my cowardly self the entire way. 

The war started after the finale of the 64th Hunger Games. Words like revolution and tyranny were spoken in hushed voices and then in bellowed war cries all leveled on the shoulders of the winner of those game; an extraordinarily handsome and charismatic fourteen year-old boy named Finnick Odair. My six-year-old brain didn’t comprehend the words or the fighting, but my parents spoke with passion filling their voices as the uprisings began.

Bombing raids and fire fights became a normal part of our lives. School remained opened until the first major bombing of the district happen; the one that collapsed the mine. After that, the schools were closed and district residents not able to fight or help with the cause were told to take shelter in their homes, although that didn’t do anyone much good when bombs were dropped on their houses. The war ended with a rebel victory the summer after I turned sixteen. My mother died a month before when she was shot while tending to wounded combatants on the ridge not far from the district border. The boy lost his leg in the same battle when he signed up to fight after turning sixteen the autumn prior. 

The heat was oppressive that summer. I signed up to help bury the bodies. I felt like I needed to do something and the new government was paying people for that kind of work. They also paid to help rebuild, but the population of District Twelve was so small after the war ended that there wasn’t much that needed to be rebuilt. Those jobs helped me keep Prim warm and feed through the winter and into my seventeenth year, but then the jobs ran out and the only ones available were in other districts. I couldn’t leave the district. I couldn’t leave my home. I couldn’t leave Prim. We were all we had left. 

Except, that wasn’t really true. Rory Hawthorne survived the war as did his baby sister and their mother. His oldest brother survived too, moving up through the ranks of the military. He is now serving under the new government and sending a good portion of his pay home to his family. Even though they lost Vick, the Hawthorne’s are doing better than most and Rory Hawthorne is sweet on Prim. They are our closest neighbors and the childhood friendship between the two has started to blossom into something more. Prim blushes when she talks about him. I’m happy for her. Falling in love is a weakness I can’t afford. If I’ve learned anything from growing up in a war it’s that life will do whatever and take whomever it pleases. I’ve lost so much already. I don’t think I’m built to take another loss. 

I check the cabinets and see that we are running dangerously low on canned goods and I used the last of the coins we had saved to buy the paltry amount that now sit in the cabinet. That’s all it takes to steel my resolve about doing this. I look down at the dress. It’s almost long enough that I can hide the toes of my hunting books under the skirt. I’m sure no one will notice what’s on my feet anyway. I grab the flyer off the counter and fidget with it while I wait from Prim. It gives the date and time for the next lottery drawing and if Prim doesn’t walk through the door in the next few minutes we will be late. We can’t be late. It is the only way I know how to take care of her. 

The new government established the lottery system last year. When each district had counted and buried their dead it was discovered that the population had drastically decreased. Specifically, the population of young, fertile residents had nearly all but been wiped out. Without these people, the population of the country was sure to be extinguished within a single lifetime. The lottery is a way to ensure the repopulation of the country while also supplying a much needed financial incentive. Any female of child bearing age and any willing male can enter the lottery and be randomly chosen to partner together with the sole responsibility of procreation. A two-year contract is signed between the couple and if no children are conceived within that time they are able to go their separate ways and try with other partners or stay together and continue to try with each other. The government allows and encourages love matches as well, but they can’t rely on love alone to repopulate the country and they know that money is a huge incentive, especially in the poorer and more war-ravaged districts. 

The lottery is only held twice a year, in March and September, and if Prim doesn’t make it home in time we will have to wait until the spring. I don’t think we will survive another winter. I can’t go alone. She’ll want to go with me to the Justice Building even though this isn’t what she wanted.

“I’m here!” Prim exclaims bursting through the door breathless. “Posy tripped and fell on the way home and refused to walk. We had to carry her. It slowed us down.” 

“It’s ok, Duck,” I tell her letting her get a drink of water before grabbing the small sack I had packed with my belongings and pulling her back out the door towards the Justice Building. 

I’ve heard people speak about how the lottery is conducted in other richer and more technologically advanced districts. In those districts the people who are coupled together can never even meet. They have a medical way to impregnate a woman that doesn’t involve physical contact. Only the genetic material from both a man and a woman are needed. Those procedure require specialized doctors, medications and machinery that are hard to come by especially since District Three was basically turned to ash during the war. Even in the richer districts with the equipment, a more natural approach is typically all that is available. Here, in District Twelve, the lottery is seen almost like a marriage contract since the couple is together as a husband and wife would traditionally be and most couples who do end up having children stay together as a family. Lottery couples live together and if work is available, they work together. 

I just hope that I’m paired with someone I can stand. I wrap my arms around myself and shudder at the thought that I will have to have sex with whoever is chosen as my partner. I have virtually no experience with intimacy and absolutely no experience with sex. My only hope is that I get partnered with someone who understands that. I keep telling myself that this is for survival, for Prim, for the good of the country.

“After I’m paired, go to the Hawthorne’s and tell Hazelle. She’ll make sure that you’re taken care of until I can talk with my partner,” I tell Prim at the bottom of the Justice Building steps. “If they agree, then I’ll come and get you as soon as possible. If not, you can stay with the Hawthorne’s and I will visit you every day.”

She nods, her fingers moving deftly through my hair twisting it into an intricate braid at the nape of my neck. I roll my eyes. These kinds of things seem out of place in a situation like this, but I indulge her. We climb the steps and enter the building heading towards the front desk. The elderly man behind the desk directs us to a nearly empty room. There are three other females in here with me. Prim takes my hand as we sit and wait for my name to be called over the intercom. Once we hear that we will head back out to the front desk and meet the man I am to be paired with. 

My foot bounces nervously as I watch the other women being called out one by one. Prim chuckles as she catches sight of my hunting boots. I nudge her with my shoulder and playfully tug on her braid. Time seems to freeze when my name is called. I notice the slickness of my hand in Prim’s and release her to wipe the sweat from my palms onto the front of the dress. I suddenly feel completely unprepared and utterly ridiculous. I smooth the dress out over my stomach and reach up to grab the end of my braid – a nervous habit – until I realize it isn’t there. Prim touches my shoulder and we start towards the door. 

The sound of rushing water fills my ears. It reminds me of the way rain sounds as it cascades off our roof when it downpours. I wonder if I’m losing my mind, but then I recognize that the sound isn’t rushing water at all. It’s the thundering of my heart. It’s beating so hard. I have the sudden urge to grab Prim’s hand and run out of the building. I haven’t signed anything yet. I could do it and no one would say a thing. I could figure out another way for us to survive. I’ve done it before. I could do it again. 

Prim opens the door and gently pulls me through. We walk towards the front desk and I can’t lift my eyes from the floor. I’m terrified to see who it is. I school my features. I can’t let the fear or disgust show. I lift my head and the thundering in my ears disappears. I’m sure I’ve gone deaf. I can’t hear anything anymore and I have to remind myself to take a breath. This must be a dream. He’s been in my dreams before though he’s never looked this sad or shocked. This can’t be real. I’m partnered with the very last person I expected. The boy with the bread, Peeta Mellark.

He stands within arm’s reach of me leaning his weight on a crutch with eyes glued to his lone shoe. The pant leg of his missing appendage tied off at the knee. I feel Prim tug at my hand capturing my attention and the noise of the Justice Building slams into my eardrums all at once. I jump and Peeta’s head lifts briefly, his blue eyes locking with mine for a split second before moving back to his shoe. I see the faint beginning of a smile form on his lips as he spies the toes of my boots peeking out from under the hem of the dress. I pull on the dress to lower the hem and hide them, a blush working its way onto my cheeks. 

The man at the front desk beckons us to follow him down a corridor to a bank of windows carved into a wall. Above the windows a sign reads _The Office of Population Management: Lottery Division_ along with the new seal of the country of Panem. Three other nervous couples are stationed at the available windows nodding to the person inside as they give them instructions and then hand them the contract to sign. Peeta and I are ushered to the next open window. I let go of Prim’s hand. She hangs back against the smooth stone wall, eyes wide as she takes in the scene. 

The woman seated behind the window looks bored. She’s not from here. From the complexion of her skin and the ridiculousness of her hairdo I would guess she is from the Capitol or a district close to it. She explains the rules of the contract, the monthly payment we each receive, the additional payment we will receive if we conceive and have a child, and the penalty for not following through with the obligation of our contract. This means that we must at least actively participate in trying to conceive a child or face heavy financial penalties, loss of travel privileges and possible jail time. The government doesn’t take these contracts lightly. In the beginning many people saw this as an easy way to earn money without having to do anything, because how would the government prove that the couples weren’t indeed trying to conceive a baby? The government quickly caught on to this and instituted caseworkers that are assigned a lottery couple. The caseworker can randomly show up to check the status of the relationship between the individuals and if questions arise, they can enforce medical checkups. However, they still aren’t able to know indisputably that the rules of the contract are being abided by and that is why contracts only last two years. There will always be those that take advantage of the system, but by and large, most participants are invested in strengthening the population and also restoring a bit of normalcy to their lives. 

The woman thrusts the contract at us after we agree to the terms. I sign first with a shaky hand. Peeta leans close to me to also sign his name on the small ledge attached to the window. He loses his balance slightly and reaches out for my arm to steady himself as he adjusts his crutch. 

“Sorry,” he whispers letting go of my arm, his cheeks bright red.

Peeta signs and hands the paperwork back to the woman who eyes us suspiciously with a smirk. She hands us each a card with the name and contact information of our caseworker then, as she closes the partition to her window she says with a laugh, “may the odds be every in your favor.” I let out a groan and roll my eyes. People old enough to truly remember the Hunger Games like to throw that saying out as a joke, but I don’t see it as funny at all, not when so many people have died before the war and during. Peeta sighs finally lifting his head enough to look at me fully and then turns toward the door jerking his head at me to follow him. 

He’s surprisingly quick for having only one leg and a crutch and I have to jog to keep up with him. I hear Prim’s light footsteps as she keeps pace with me. We follow Peeta out of the building and through the town square. He heads directly for the bakery without stopping or looking up from the ground. I turn my head and look at Prim over my shoulder. She looks torn as to whether she should continue to come with me or head back to the Hawthorne’s. I shake my head and shrug. I don’t know what to do either. I can barely wrap my head around this day or the fact that I will be spending the night with Peeta Mellark. It will be the first night I’ve ever slept anywhere but my home. 

Peeta leads us down the alleyway beside the bakery’s brick building and to the muddy, crooked, wooden steps that allow access to the back door. I pause at the bottom as he carefully climbs the steps and opens the door. He turns when he realizes that I’m no longer behind him. 

“My sister,” I say gesturing towards Prim. Prim raises her hand and waves at him before clasping her hands behind her back. 

“I – I don’t really have a place for her to sleep for tonight, but she is welcome to stay for dinner. If – If she wants and if it’s okay with you,” he says quietly, a nervous tremor breaking through his words. 

He disappears into the darkened bakery leaving the door open. I look at Prim who shrugs and starts up the steps. I follow stepping into the bakery and closing the door behind me. We walk down a short hall that looks like it was once used as a sort of mudroom with its empty wooden bench and coat hooks, but now houses only a crutch, a single canvas shoe and a rifle propped in the corner. Prim’s worried eyes find mine when she sees the rifle, but I choose to ignore it. The hall opens into a spacious kitchen with three brick ovens, a sink large enough to bathe in, a wall with built in cabinetry and a massive butcher block table. The smell of meat and potatoes fills the air and I see Peeta balanced on his crutch by one of the ovens. Prim and I stand awkwardly in the doorway both of us uncomfortable in the strange, new environment. 

“Please, sit,” Peeta says pointing at the stools around the table. “I didn’t expect for there to be more than two people, so I only made two potatoes but we should have enough meat and I made a loaf of bread.”

I nod, unsure how to reply. Prim and I probably would’ve shared half a potato for dinner if we weren’t sitting in his kitchen, so anything more than that is a luxury. I can see Prim nearly vibrating in her seat wanting to speak to Peeta and to ask questions. She is so much more outgoing and inquisitive than I am and loves to talk with anyone who is willing. I kick her foot to try and get her to stop fidgeting. She ignores me.

“Do you live here alone, Peeta?” She asks in a voice that is just a little too sugary sweet than her natural one. 

“Prim,” I reprimand under my breath shooting an apologetic look towards Peeta. He doesn’t know that once he answers her the floodgates will be opened and she will not stop. 

“Yes,” he says reaching for a dish to put the cooked food on. He works his way toward the table balancing a large plate in his hand with two potatoes and a decently sized roast. He places it in front of us and it takes all of my willpower not to dig into the food with my bare hands. He grabs three plates from a cabinet, placing them on the table before also grabbing glasses and a pitcher of water. I understand too late that I should’ve offered to help him and I mutter an apology for not doing so. “It’s okay, Katniss. I can still manage…even on one foot.”

“Did your family die in the war?” Prim asks. 

I’m so embarrassed by her willingness to pry into other people’s lives that all I can do is focus on the food on my plate. Though, in that moment, I also realize that the more she keeps talking the longer she will be here. As soon as she stops she will have to go to the Hawthorne’s and I will be here alone with Peeta contractually obligated to be more intimate with him than I have been with anyone. I’ve only kissed a boy once and I would hardly even classify it as a kiss. It was just a quick pressing of lips together as Gale was leaving for the train to The Capitol. He told me he had to do that just once and that was the last I saw of him. The kiss felt anything by romantic and left me feeling more confused than anything else. 

“Some of them did,” Peeta answers between bites of his dinner. His voice soft and distant. “My mother moved to District One shortly after the end of the war and my older brother lives in District Ten working with the military to rebuild the livestock industry there.”

“Oh,” Prim replies as she takes small ladylike bites of her meat and the potato I split with her. Meanwhile, I’ve already shoveled all of the food into my mouth and am working on the slice of fresh bread on my plate. “We lost our dad during the first bombing and our mom died right before the war ended during the Battle of Hawk Ridge,” she continued.

Peeta only nods. He knows all of this already because he fed me when I was a starving eleven year-old and because Hawk Ridge is where he lost his leg. My mother had been the one to use the tourniquet that cost him the leg but saved his life.

“So, you’re running the bakery alone?” Prim asks. 

I lift my head at this because I’m curious too. Is this why he signed up for the lottery? Did he need an extra set of hands and the extra income? It has to be hard to keep the place afloat by himself even with the current small population. Maybe the small population is what is making it hard to begin with. Less people means less money and less chance to sell his wares.

Peeta nods.

“Is that why you signed up for the lottery?” Prim questions, batting her eyelashes at him sweetly.

I kick her foot harder under the table and she gives me a sideways glare before returning her sweet stare to Peeta’s downturn head. He’s focused on the nearly empty dinner plate, moving the crumbs from his bread around the plate with his fork. His cheeks are tinged pink and the tips of his ears turn crimson.

“I – I guess that is part of it. Things are hard for everyone right now. I still have a few customers, but people don’t have a lot of money to spend on items they don’t really need. They still buy the bread, but it’s not enough to keep the bakery open. I um – I also would like to have children. I mean, I didn’t think I would be having them this soon, but this is the only option for me right now outside of leaving the district to go work in reestablishing other more important districts. If I do that than the bakery will close for good and I can’t leave it to die like that. My father was here and my brothers. It’s – it’s home.”

Prim is quiet after that. She finishes every last bite off of her plate and offers to wash the dishes in repayment for the meal, but Peeta refuses. He gets up stacking the dishes to move them to the sink. Prim looks at me and then nods her head toward Peeta urging me to go and help him. My throat feels dry and my palms feel too sweaty. Prim reaches out and physically pushes me off my stool. I stumble toward the sink and stand next to Peeta to rinse and dry the dishes that he washes. I’m cautious of him, making sure I don’t unintentionally bump against him in such close proximity. 

I swallow the ball of nerves in my throat. This is going to be a disaster. 

I hear Prim get up from her stool. I flash a look at her over my shoulder pleading with her not to go yet, but I also notice that the sun is starting to set and if she doesn’t leave soon she will have to walk back home in the dark. 

Noticing my panicked expression, Peeta clears his throat. “Katniss, I –,” he says softly.

“I need to say goodbye to my sister. It’s getting late and she needs to get back to our house before dark,” I rush out keeping him from saying whatever he was going to say. 

He puts the last washed dish down and shifts over to my side of the sink to finish rinsing and drying. Prim hovers in the doorway and I hurry over to her and wrap her in my arms. 

“Go talk with Hazelle. I’ll come by and see you as soon as I can tomorrow,” I say.

“You can come back tomorrow after school,” Peeta interjects making his way over to us. “Come back and have dinner with us again. I can have a place ready for you to sleep by then as well. If that’s okay?” He asks looking toward me. 

I’m stunned for a moment before responding. “Yes, of course. That would be wonderful. I was going to have her stay with our neighbor because I wasn’t sure what would happen, but – yes. “

“I don’t want to separate you from your family, Katniss,” he replies quietly turning his gaze back to the floor as Prim and I say our goodbyes. The click of the latch as Prim closes the door seems to reverberate through the still, empty kitchen. I can hear the thundering of my heart in my ears again. I now feel completely out of place in this silly white dress. The awkwardness between Peeta and I is almost painful. The tension in the air is so thick it feels like I could reach out and grab it. 

“I’m sure you want to get changed. I think I only remember seeing you in a dress one other time,” Peeta says with a ghost of a smirk on his lips.

He’s looking at me now. His eyes are deep blue wells of resignation that remind me of an animal when it’s been caught in a snare. I wonder what I look like to him? I nod and follow him past the kitchen and down another short hallway with four doors. He explains that the doors lead to the storage room, the bathroom, the office and the staircase to the upstairs living area. He opens the door to the office and I see that it isn’t really an office, but more of a converted living space. There’s a small desk, a bed, a nightstand, a dresser with a lamp, a bookcase and an overstuffed chair. The waning sunlight seeps through a lone window beside the desk. The bed has a pile of blankets and an open notebook that looks to have drawings in it. Peeta moves past me to grab the notebook, snapping it shut and pulling it against his chest. 

“The upstairs was damaged during the last bombing,” he says. “Shrapnel tore holes in the roof and rain water caused a lot of damage. I haven’t been able to get it completely fixed yet. I’ve been sleeping down here. I uh – I wasn’t sure how the lottery was going to turn out, but there’s an extra cot in the storage room that I can sleep on tonight. We can clean the room out tomorrow and I can use it as my room from now on. You and Prim can have this one.”

I open and shut my mouth several times trying to figure out what to say. I’m grateful and relieved, but also extremely confused. We are legally obligated to follow the rules of the contract and in the eyes of the district we are basically married, but I’m not sure how we are supposed to honor the lottery rules when we’re sleeping in separate beds and separate rooms. A sense of determination comes over me. I need this money. I have to take care of Prim. I push the thoughts of what it will mean to be intimate with Peeta and to have children with him to the back of my mind. I can’t think about that right now.

“No. No, that won’t work,” I say.

Peeta’s head snaps up and his face is puzzled. I know he thinks he’s doing the chivalrous thing, but he’s not doing us any favors. 

“We need to honor the contract we signed. You need the money and the help or you’ll lose the bakery. I need the money or I’ll lose Prim. We can fix up the storage room for Prim. I’m so grateful that you are willing to let her live here and grateful to you for – for the bread too,” I stammer the last sentence out as my trembling fingers begin to undo the buttons on the front of my dress. I inhale deeply to steady myself, but the thundering in my ears is loud and distracting and my fingers don’t seem to want to stop their shaking. I make it to the buttons just below my bra when Peeta’s hand stills mine. I look up. He’s so close to me and I can feel that he’s shaking too. He smells like soap with a hint of cinnamon.

“Can we wait just a little while?” He asks softly, his eyes finding mine and his hand squeezing my fingers gently. “We don’t have to do anything tonight. We’re allowed to get to know each other first.”

I nod and exhale feeling the fear and tension release from my shoulders. His hand is large and warm nearly eclipsing my hand completely. I suddenly feel very tired. I know he’s right. Our caseworker won’t come around immediately and there are even provisions in the contract we signed that allow the partnered couple time to get to know each other. The government doesn’t expect people to be so comfortable right away. They’ll give us time, but not a lot of it.

“One month?” I ask. This seems like enough time to not arise any suspicions and hopefully get us more relaxed around each other. 

“One month,” he agrees, removing his hand from mine. My fingers tingle and feel odd without his touch. He turns and moves towards the door to leave me to get changed.

“Peeta.”

He stops and turns.

“I never said thank you, for the bread I mean. Thank you,” I say. He nods and even grants me a small smile. “I was so worried today, but I’m glad that it’s you,” I add and then flush slightly with embarrassment. 

It’s the truth. I am glad it’s him. It could have been someone like old Cray, who somehow miraculously survived the war. This night would be going horribly different if it had been Cray. 

“I never imagined it would be you,” he says with a sigh, closing the door behind him.

I stand there frozen, my shaky fingers still on the buttons of my dress. My head hurts and I’m exhausted but I don’t know how I’ll get to sleep tonight in this strange room, in a strange bed and with Peeta sleeping only inches away from me. At least Prim will be here tomorrow and we can help Peeta with getting the bakery back up and running. Maybe we can help him work on the upstairs too. I’ve never really done much in the way of construction or carpentry work, but I’m a fast learner and I owe him so much already. I finish unbuttoning the dress and fold it neatly before placing it in my small bag. It’s one of the only things I have left that was my mother’s and from the way my father looked at her in the dress in the photograph I have, it meant a lot to him as well so it means a lot to me too. 

I slip on a simple, worn sweater and comfortable pants. I look at my boots and decide against putting them back on. I line them up neatly on the wall by the nightstand. I work my fingers through the elaborate braid Prim had woven in my hair letting the tresses fall around my shoulders. I consider weaving the hair into my usual single braid but choose to leave it down. I like the weight of it around my head and the way it hides my face a bit when I duck my chin. It’s like a curtain I can hide behind to escape the uneasiness of this situation when I need too. Besides, it’s the evening and the autumn chill is already seeping in through the wooden floorboards below my feet. This sort of hairdo feels comfortable in the chilly nighttime weather. 

I creep in socked feet back down the hall and into the kitchen. Now that the sun has set it is very dark in the bakery save for a light glow at the end of the hall. When the battle for District 5 and control of the power grid took place, the grid was nearly destroyed. It had been one of the most prolific victories for the rebellion and many say it turned the tide of the war. Power has been spotty ever since. Growing up on the outskirts of the district I rarely had access to power, so the absence of electricity isn’t anything new to me but it does make for dark, cold nights now that winter is approaching. We thought they would have the grid repaired by now, however we are learning that with limited man power in every district rebuilding is an uphill battle. Yet another reason why the lottery and population growth are essential. 

A single source of light emanates from the middle brick oven. A small fire burns inside and the cast iron door has been left propped open. Peeta sits below the oven, his back propped against the warm brick and the notebook he confiscated from his room in his hands. The pencil held between his fingers slows on the page as I lower myself to sit beside him. The brick feels incredible against my back and I sink into it more, turning my head to look at the open notebook. The page is open to a loose sketch of Prim during dinner that evening. Her chin is propped up by her fist, her elbow on the table and a mischievous smile on her lips.

“I didn’t know you could draw,” I say surprised. “You’ve captured her so well. You’re an artist.”

He smiles and shrugs, shaking his head to disagree with a small laugh.

“No, really you are. I couldn’t have been in the room more than fifteen minutes and yet you were able to draw Primrose so accurately just from memory. It’s amazing. I have no talents like that.”

“You can take your bow into the woods and feed your family. You even bring back enough game and trade and help feed the district,” he says with a knowing look.

I shake my head. “That isn’t talent. That’s survival.” 

He nods. “I – I would like if – if we could be friends, Katniss,” he stutters, picking a piece of lint from his pants and avoiding my eyes again. 

I realize now in this close proximity to him just how much the war and the loss of his family have changed him. As a child, when school was still open, I remember a friendly, outgoing boy with bright blue eyes and blonde curls. He would talk to everyone and loved to make people laugh. This boy – this man before me now is a ghost of that person. He’s shy and nervous and seemingly hyper aware of just how changed he is but lacking the confidence to pull himself up out of the depths he finds himself in. 

I let out a humorless laugh. “I would like that too, but you should be warned, I’m not so good at being friends.” Gale’s face flashes in my mind.

“It helps if you know the person. I hardly know anything about you other than you’re stubborn and good with a bow,” he says, lifting his head and leaning it against the brick. The hint of a smile is playing on his lips. He’s teasing me. I can tease too.

“That about sums me up,” I say with a shrug reaching for the notebook still in his hands. He pulls it just out of my reach.

“Uh-uh. There’s more to you. You just don’t want to tell me.”

I sigh.

“Katniss, the way the whole ‘friends’ thing works is we have to tell each other the ‘deep stuff’.”

He really is teasing now and I find myself stifling a giggle. I never giggle. Where is that coming from?

“The deep stuff?” I ask, my eyebrows raised. “Like, what?”

He closes his eyes seeming to contemplate this for a moment before his eyes pop open and they are alight with something akin to joy and the glow from the fire. His long lashes framing the brilliant blue hue. I realize my mouth is hanging open and close it using my hair to hide my blush.

“What’s your favorite color?” He asks in a voice laced with seriousness. 

I almost snort out a laugh, but we’re playing a game now and I like to win. “Now, you’ve crossed the line,” I deadpan with as severe of a scowl as I can muster.

He laughs. My chest tightens. It is a beautiful sound. I could get use to his laugh. For a moment I see the boy he used to be. I tell myself to add this moment to the list of moments I keep in my memory of things that are good, things that make me smile or things that I love. I don’t want to forget the moment I first made him laugh like that. 

“No, seriously. What is it?” He asks, the smile on his face bright. I think he might like this moment too.

“Green. What’s yours?”

“Orange.”

“Orange?” I make a face. All I can think of is the garishly bright oranges the Capitol people used to wear and think were the latest fashion. It reminded me of peacocks strutting around flaunting their feathers. 

“Not that kind of orange,” Peeta chuckles, seeming to understand where my mind went. “More of a subtle orange. Like a sunset.”

I can picture what he means perfectly. I think of the lake out in the woods, the little cabin by it and the way the sunset reflecting off the lake looks from its doorway. A soft orange and red shade that extends across the lake’s surface. It is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. That lake and the cabin somehow survived the war unscathed. I wonder if Peeta has ever seen it. I wonder if he’s ever been outside the district when he was fighting with the rebellion and what that was like. I wonder about his family and his solitary life. I wonder about his leg. Is it painful? Is he worried what I might think about it? I wonder about a number of things as we sit in a more companionable silence with our bodies pressed close to the brick. Peeta picks up the notebook and begins sketching again and I weave different braids into my hair before pulling them back out again. 

Before long, my eyes start to drift closed and I turn to see Peeta already dozing, his head slumped against his chest. I crouch beside him and shake him gently. He startles, grasping my wrist tightly in alarm before remembering that I’m here with him now. His grip loosens and he mumbles a quiet apology. I reach down to help him up which he accepts but I can tell the help makes him feel uneasy. He shuts the oven door, lights an oil lamp and we move together down the hall towards the bedroom. I grab my bag off the floor of the room and head towards the bathroom. He follows me and hands me the lamp while he waits in the hall for me to finish. I quickly relieve myself, brush my teeth and hair before switching places with him. The windowless hall is pitch black. The only light belonging to the sliver of moonbeams creating shadows as they stretch from the bedroom window into the hall. I listen to the muffled noises of Peeta and hug the wall. The floorboards overhead groan and creak. I can feel the cool gusts of air escaping around the closed door of the stairs. I’m sure I can possibly get some help from around town to work on the upstairs. I can hunt for meat to trade for labor and Peeta can provide bread. We can make it work. If we have children they will need a place to live that isn’t an abandoned drafty office.

Children. I never wanted to have children, but here I am. I’ll be a terrible mother. 

Peeta exits the bathroom and I follow him into the bedroom. We stand awkwardly by the bed and share a shy smile. He gestures for me to get into the bed which I do. It’s bigger than the bed I shared with Prim and more than big enough for Peeta and I, but I still move all the way against the wall to give him room and provide space between us. He sits on the edge of the bed with his back to me and places his crutch against the nightstand before reaching down to remove his shoe. He turns out the lamp and lays on his back. We huddle stiffly under the blankets, fully clothed and not touching. I listen to his careful steady breaths and close my eyes trying to pretend that I’m at home, in my bed with Prim. I want to stretch out and get comfortable but I’m afraid to move. I don’t want to bother him or accidentally brush up against him. This whole scenario is so foreign and out of place to me. I wrap my arms around myself and let my mind spin uncontrollably until I finally fall asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The chill on the tip of my nose wakes me up. We must have had an abnormally cold night for mid-September. It’s still dark and I bury my face in the blanket, curling in on myself. The blankets provide a cave of comfortable warmth. The weight around my waist grips me tighter as I wiggle to get myself cocooned in the delicious heat. For a moment I think it’s Prim who’s pressed against my back and I relax into the comfort of her body. The low hum of approval that greets me brings me back to the present. My eyes fly open. Memories of the day before assault me like the rapid machine gun fire I once witnessed taking down a line of peacekeepers as a child. I freeze and I’m instantly aware of everything beneath the blankets. The puffs of breath against my neck. The hand splayed across my abdomen. The hard lines of Peeta’s chest. The weight of his thigh as it rests against the leg I have wedge between his. The rigid appendage pressing itself into my lower back. 

How did we end up like this? 

We had gone to sleep so careful of each other only to end up intertwined like the lovers in the tawdry romance novels Prim somehow gets her hands on. This wouldn’t be bad if we were actually lovers and not…whatever it is that we are now. I can tell the second he wakes up. I feel him inch closer to me only to immediately halt his movements. I keep my breaths even feigning sleep. He slowly lifts his arm from around me and pulls his hips away turning onto his back. It’s suddenly so cold and strangely lonely without his warmth. I have an overwhelming compulsion to grab his arm and put him back where he was, but I stay where I am until I feel him leave the bed and hear the sound of the door closing as he exits it. 

I sink farther under the weight of the blankets, flipping onto my stomach to groan into the mattress. What the hell did I get myself in to? I had expected the lottery to match me with a stranger, someone who had moved to Twelve from another district, or possibly even Cray. I had prepared myself for that possibility and all the misery that it would entail. I was not at all prepared to be partnered with someone that I carried such a long and complicated history with or the emotional havoc that would wreck. The only other time I have ever felt this emotionally torn apart was when my father died. I’ve been able to hold it together through everything else except for the moment I locked eyes with Peeta Mellark in the Justice Building. I’ve been acting like some awkward, sensitive, scared, giggly, alternate version of myself since. I don’t understand it and that pisses me off. 

I throw the blankets off of myself with a growl. The sky outside the window is a dimly lit gray signaling that it is still very early morning. I push myself out of the bed and use the bathroom, pulling on fresh underwear under the clothes I wore to bed. There’s a lot of work to do. I need to stop being so timid around Peeta. If we are going to get through this then we have to work together. With a decisive nod of my head in the bathroom mirror, I head down the hall and into the kitchen. My well-trained hunter’s footsteps are silent and Peeta doesn’t hear my arrival. He’s lost in thought, sitting on a stool at the large table with his back to me. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up and his arms move across the table in a rhythmic motion as his kneads dough. 

He moves quickly and with purpose. I notice several bowls placed in a row along the table top, each covered with a cotton cloth. He stops what he’s doing and throws the ball of dough in his hands into an empty bowl, covering it and rising from the stool. He’s left his crutch on the other side of the room and he uses the table for balance as he hops on one leg toward the sink. It suddenly feels like I’m witnessing a private moment. Since the day he lost his leg, I’ve never seen him without his crutch. He was so careful to always use it yesterday and seemed embarrassed of his missing limb, making a show of being able to function like he had never lost it. 

When he reaches the sink, I clear my throat. He startles and looks over his shoulder. His cheeks flush and he quickly washes his hands and reaches for his crutch. 

“Good morning,” I say with something I hope resembles a smile. My eyes dart to the bowls on the table. “Do you need help?” 

“Those are done for now. They need to sit for a while before we can bake them,” he says, walking around the table to the spot he was occupying before I walked in. “Come sit with me and we can do a practice loaf together. It’s the easiest kind we make, but it’s also one of the most popular. It will be a huge help if you are able to make this by yourself when we really open for business again.” 

He pats the stool next to him and I sit. He pulls out all the ingredients we’ll need and places them in front of me, guiding me on how much of each to use. Once I have a wet, gloopy mess in front of me on the table, he tells me to start kneading. I try to copy the movements I saw him doing earlier, but my rhythm is off and my motions are jerky. He tries to show me by miming the motion and I do my best to replicate it, but I can feel myself getting frustrated. 

“Wait. Let me show you,” he says with a shake of his head, his unruly blond waves falling into his eyes. He needs a haircut. 

Standing from his stool, he walks behind me and places the crutch against the table by my side. I feel his warm, solid chest against my back. His arms wrap around me and his hands press into the dough on top of mine. His face hovers over my shoulder, the breath tickling my ear when he speaks. 

“You’re overthinking it and being too gentle.” 

I crack a smile and snort a little. I can feel him smiling against my ear too because we both know I’m not known to be gentle with anything. I’m practically feral; as much a part of the forest as any of the wild things that inhabit it. He continues as his arms and hands work in tandem with mine to mold the dough.

“Don’t be afraid to be a little rough with it. As you go on you’ll feel the stickiness start to go away and it will get firmer.”

He’s still very close to the side of my face. His lips brush the shell of my ear. His breaths coming out in puffs from the effort as the ball of dough takes shape. I feel warm all over. I blame it on the kneading. It is actually hard work and I’m starting to understand the broad, muscular shape of all the Mellark men, but I’ve hiked miles in the forest and never felt this overheated. Before I even comprehend what I’m doing, I cock my head slightly to the side and he rests his chin on my shoulder leaning more of his weight against my back for balance. 

It’s hypnotic watching our hands move together. The light color of his skin mixed with my more olive tone seem to blend perfectly. A beautiful combination of darkness and light. I relax my head against him and steal glimpses of his profile from my periphery. His lashes are dangerously long and thick. I don’t know how they don’t get tangled up every time that he blinks. His face still has a bit of roundness left, the remnants of childhood, although I can clearly see the sharp lines of his jaw and cheek bones. His eyes are impossibly blue. I remember the first time I saw those blue eyes, set wide in the face of an eager, outgoing child. Nearly all the people in town had blue eyes and some in the Seam, including my mother and Prim. Seeing another town child with them wasn’t shocking, but I’ve never seen anyone with the sapphire blue eyes of Peeta Mellark. Well, except for the baker. He got his eyes from his father. Thankfully, the horrors of war and the hardships of poverty haven’t dulled their incredible color.

His hands still. The dough is a soft, solid ball between my hands. I no longer need his guidance, but he lingers for just a moment, his hands remaining atop mine. A shiver rolls through me. A pleasant sensation stretches out from low in my belly to the tips of my fingers and toes. The feeling is strange and unexpected. I squirm in my chair. He murmurs an apology, reaching for his crutch and moving around the table towards the sink so quickly that his crutch catches on the leg of one of the stools. He stumbles, but catches himself, cursing under his breath. 

“Th-That one is done,” he stammers pointing to the ball of dough in my hands. “You can put it in the empty bowl. Throw some cloth over it. It’s still pretty chilly in here so it will take a bit for them to be ready to bake.”

Is it chilly? 

I wouldn’t know. If you were to ask me, I would think it was the height of summer. I’m even sweating a little. My hands are covered in flour and bits of dough. I need to wash them but I can’t bring myself to move to the kitchen sink. The idea of being in that close proximity to Peeta again is daunting. I’m not sure what is happening. Something is building. The tension makes me anxious. It reminds me of the way the district felt on a night before a big battle, everything and everyone wound too tightly, on the verge of snapping. I hurry down the hall and to the bathroom, testing the switch on the wall. Light illuminates the room. We have electricity…at least for now. We should bathe while we have the light. I wash my hands quickly, catching a glimpse of my flushed expression in the mirror. My skin is rosy the way I’ve seen some couples look when they exit the Justice Building after signing a marriage certification on a love match or as they scurry back from the abandoned slag heap when they think no one is watching. 

I ignore it and run down the hall to tell Peeta the electricity is on. I find him standing at the sink, his head hung low, shoulders scrunched and fingers gripping the porcelain hard enough that his knuckles are white. 

“Peeta,” I say softly.

No answer. 

I creep closer noticing that the muscles in his forearms and back are tense. I reach out with a cautious hand. I’ve seen people like this from time to time though most are so lost in the bottom of a bottle of white liquor that they don’t know where they are, but some can be seen lost in their memories instead. People who have seen and done things in war that their minds won’t let them forget.

My fingers graze his shoulder. “Peeta,” I say again more forcibly. He jumps and whips around faster than I thought possible. An intensity burns in his eyes and his hand flies to my wrist gripping it roughly and throwing it away from him. He blinks and I watch the intensity fade replaced by confusion and regret. 

“Katniss,” he whispers. “I-I don’t know what I was – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean – I don’t – fuck.” His head drops to his chest.

I tilt my head and wait for him to get his bearings, to find the right words. Instead, he slumps against the sink and tears spring to his eyes. He turns his head away from me to hide them. My chest tightens again. What happened to him? What did he see? What did he do? His shoulders begin to shake.

No, that won’t do.

I grab his face in my hands forcing him to meet my eyes. Tears fall freely down his cheeks, but he doesn’t look away. I swipe my thumb across the dark circles under his eyes catching the liquid that gathers there. He shouldn’t be ashamed. He’s seen things and done things that I can only imagine and I’m sure my imagination doesn’t do it justice. The horrors that haunt him shouldn’t be a burden to bear on his own. He did what he did for the good of Panem and the people of his district. He fought to free us. We all owe him and everyone like him. I want to say all of these things to him, but the thoughts get jumbled in my head. I’ve never been very good with words. I want to take his pain away if only for just a moment. I do the only thing that I can think of; I press my lips to his.

It’s a chaste kiss like the one I shared with Gale, but that is where the similarity ends. I don’t stiffen and want to turn away like I had before. In fact, I lean into it, into him. His hand settles on my waist and I don’t shy away from the touch. My stomach flips and it reminds me of the way it felt when my father let me jump from a high rock ledge into the lake the summer before he died. That freefall was exhilarating and made my stomach flutter like it was full of fireflies. The kiss makes me feel that again. Where with Gale I felt almost nothing, this kiss makes me feel everything. 

I pull away snagging my bottom lip with my teeth. My hands are still on his face and his hand is still on my waist. My heart hammers against my ribs. His eyes, still wet with tears, are a mixture of shock and wonder, like he can’t believe that happened. They dart to my mouth. I have an almost overwhelming desire to kiss him again.

“We have electricity,” I blurt instead, dropping my hands from his face. “The light is on in the bathroom.”

He blinks several times, releasing my waist to hastily wipe the tears from his eyes and cheeks. I back away holding my hands behind my back to hide their tremor.

“Oh,” he says, clearing his throat and grabbing his crutch. “We should make the most of it then. I’ll get the first loaves in the ovens. The couple of people who stop in will start showing up soon to pick them up. We should have hot water now too although it might take a few minutes to reach the tap. We should probably bathe. We don’t know when the power will be back on again after this, or when we won’t have to boil the water.”

I nod, the corners of my lips twitching just slightly upward because I had thought the same thing. A hot bath is a luxury for everyone in the district and not something that we get often, so I make my way quickly down the hall and to the bathroom before we lose power again and Peeta loses his chance at the hot water as well. I make quick work of the bath using Peeta’s soap to clean my body and my hair. I smell like him now. It’s oddly comforting. I pull on my clothes and braid my wet hair, pulling it towards my nose to inhale the scent as I tie the end off. 

Peeta pulls several loaves from the ovens placing them on cooling racks then excuses himself as soon as I reenter the kitchen telling me to keep an eye on the front of the bakery for the few customers that may arrive. I make my way to the front of the store and sit on the stool behind the empty bakery cases. I remember the way these cases looked when I was a child, full of beautiful pastries, cakes and cookies. Prim loved to stop and look at the cakes. Once the war started and school ended we didn’t come into town much and the bakery stopped making anything that wasn’t essential.

I let my mind drift. A few people scurry down the street passing the bakery windows. I replay the kiss with Peeta and the kiss with Gale. I don’t understand how nearly the same kiss could feel so different. My fingers idly trace my lips as the bell above the bakery’s door jingles and a loud voice bellows.

“Boy! You better not be fucking sleeping or hungover. I’m still technically your commanding officer and if I can get my drunk ass out of bed so can – “

He stops and stares at me. His eye squint and his mouth clamps shut. He looks around cautiously. “Where’s the boy and who are you?”

“The powers back on. He’s bathing. Who are you?” I ask even though I don’t need to. I know exactly who he is; the only living Hunger Games Victor from District 12 and rebel army Captain, Haymitch Abernathy.

He guffaws. “You know exactly who I am, sweetheart, just like I know who you are.” I slant my head questioningly. “You’re Sebastian and Violet Everdeen’s oldest. Everyone in the district is aware of our resident huntress. Speaking of, shouldn’t you be out in the woods killing cute, little furry things? Why are you here manning the fort while the boy relaxes in the tub?”

As if he knew he was being talked about, Peeta walks through the kitchen door and into the front of the bakery. His hair is still wet and drips onto the collar of his fresh shirt. 

“Captain,” he says with a smile, his eyes darting quickly from me to Haymitch. “Here for your usual loaf?”

“Don’t pull that ‘Captain’ bullshit with me. We aren’t on a battlefield anymore. I could care less about military ranks and names. I’ve told you a thousand times to call me Haymitch.” He hooks his thumb towards me, raising his eyebrows. “So?”

“I signed up for the lottery,” Peeta says with a shrug. “Do you want the bread or not, Haymitch?”

Haymitch stares at us for a beat before doubling over in laughter. He wheezes and coughs with his hands on his knees before pulling a silver flask out of his jacket pocket and taking a swig. “You entered the lottery and were randomly partnered with Katniss Everdeen?” 

Peeta nods. His cheeks begin to turn crimson. Haymitch stares at him with a look of disbelief. Peeta holds his stare. They seem to be having some sort of telepathic conversation. I’m clueless and starting to get agitated. 

“Why is being partnered with me so funny?” I ask vehemently. “Is it because I’m Seam? Do you think he should have been partnered with someone better?”

Haymitch turns his stare in my direction, looking me up and down. “Sweetheart, I’m from the Seam, so don’t get your panties in a twist.” He reaches out and claps Peeta on the shoulder. “The running joke with the boy here, is that he was some kind of good luck charm for me. He saved my ass on more than one occasion. I just can’t believe that he actually _is_ lucky!”

I have no idea what he’s talking about and the smell of white liquor on his breath is turning my stomach. I jump up from the stool and head towards the kitchen door. “What loaf do you usually get?”

“The dense brown loaf with raisins,” Peeta says. “Thank you, Katniss.”

The heavy kitchen door shuts behind me and it doesn’t hit me until I reach the cooling rack on the table that this loaf is almost identical to the loaves that Peeta threw to me when we were children. When I close my eyes, I can still feel the cold rain seeping through my clothes. I can remember the knowledge that I was going to die that day huddled under a tree. It all changed when Peeta appeared on the back steps of the bakery. The shrillness of his mother’s voice and her hateful words continue to ring in my head to this day. I also haven’t forgotten the way she hit him or the bruise it left on his face for a week after. 

I grab Haymitch’s bread, still warm from the oven, and cross the kitchen to the door. The tense hushed voices on the other side give me pause. Whatever they were trying to say to each other in my presence through their stares, they are now willing to say out loud. I make a show of entering the front holding the bread out dramatically so as not to eavesdrop – although I really want to – but I catch Peeta’s last words, “she’s not a prize that I won. She doesn’t belong to me, Haymitch. Drop it.” 

Haymitch at least has the decency to look somewhat contrite as he takes the loaf from my hands and pays Peeta. He gives Peeta’s shoulder a squeeze in an almost fatherly gesture before turning towards the front door. 

When he gets to the door, he turns back to me. “I guess I’ll be seeing you again, sweetheart. You know, I thought the boy was the lucky one, but maybe I was wrong. I think it might actually be you.”

The bell on the door jingles loudly in the silent room as the door closes and Haymitch disappears onto the street. Peeta seems determined to avoid talking about the interaction with Haymitch and I don’t feel like it’s my place to badger him about it so I let it go. The rest of the morning is relatively quiet as a few other people come in their bread. By lunch, Peeta is turning the lock on the front door saying that there won’t be anyone else that comes by today. We keep busy cleaning out the storage room for Prim and when we finish I’m actually proud of our work. It is a much nicer space than the one in our house. She’ll have privacy and a room to call her own. I know it will be an adjustment for her. Hell, it’s an adjustment for me, but I know that she will see the positive in all of this and will be thrilled that we will get to live together under one roof. 

As it nears the time for school to let out, I leave the bakery and meet Prim outside of the small brick building the district now uses for a school. We only have a handful of school aged children living in the district now, so there isn’t currently a need for the large upper and lower schools that we used to have. Those buildings have been bombed to ash anyway. Prim appears from behind the door with Rory and Posy. She squeals when she sees me and we head towards the Seam together to gather her belongings from the home we were raised in.

“So, are you pregnant yet?” Rory asks. Prim backhands his arm.

“I just signed the paperwork yesterday. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t happen that quick,” I say with a laugh. “If you think it does then your mama needs to have a talk with you.” 

Prim giggles and loops her arm through mine. Our mother was a healer and a midwife, so that meant that we both learned more than we ever thought we would in the matters of sex and pregnancy. Prim was fascinated by it, asking questions and attending to births with our mother. I was horrified and ran from the house anytime a sick or wounded person showed up on our doorstep. Needless to say, I spent a lot of time in the woods. But, at least I’m knowledgeable and for that I’m thankful, especially now.

“Are you going to tell Gale you signed up for the lottery?” Rory questions.

I shrug. I honestly hadn’t considered it. I didn’t think my decision to sign up for the lottery was any of Gale’s concern. Rory nods and doesn’t ask any more questions. He grabs Posy’s hand as we approach their house and waves when they walk through the door. As soon as they disappear Prim starts peppering me with questions. 

“What happened after I left? I was worried about you.”

Her eyes are big, round and filled with genuine concern. I pull her closer to me as we enter our old house. 

“Nothing happened, Duck. We sat by one of the ovens to keep warm. We talked. We went to bed.”

I head for the small kitchen to pack up the last few cans of food stored there. I grab my bow and quiver from their place in the small closet in the living room. Prim heads for the bedroom to pack up her clothes and personal items. 

“Did you sleep in the same bed?” She asks, her voice muffled behind the walls of the bedroom.

I sigh and lean against the wall by the door waiting for her to reappear. She does only a moment later, a sack with her clothes thrown over her shoulder.

“I grabbed the monogramed handkerchiefs from mama and daddy’s wedding and the last bar of lavender soap. I might be able to make some more though when the flowers bloom in the spring,” she says. 

I reach for the doorknob and we both leave the house. I don’t bother locking the door. There is nothing left in there to steal and I know that Hazelle will keep an eye on it for us. We start down the dirt lane back towards town.

“So?” Prim asks, her eyebrows raised expectantly.

“So, what?”

“Did you sleep in the same bed?”

“Yes.”

“What was _that_ like?” She’s practically walking backwards in order to watch my face. I can see the romantic notions she gets from those silly books swirling in her head. 

“I’ve shared a bed with you my whole life. It was practically the same thing,” I lie. 

Prim scoffs and turns to walk beside me. “You’re a terrible liar, Katniss.”

“Fine, Duck,” I relent. “It was strange and a little uncomfortable, but we both eventually fell asleep. Just the same as what will happen tonight I imagine.”

Prim chews on her lips mulling something over for a moment. “Where am I going to sleep?”

I explain the situation regarding the upstairs and the sleeping arrangements to her as we walk. She nods thoughtfully and then grabs my hand as we near what is now considered the Hob since the old one was used as a war hospital until it was destroyed. She pulls me through the door and past the few vendors with booths set up. We head towards the back, stopping when we reach the lanky frame of a man. His back is to us, but I recognize that it’s Gale’s good friend, Thom. They fought for the rebellion together, but Thom decided to stay in the district when Gale decided to leave.

We speak with him for a while inquiring into whether he would be able to find enough men to repair the damage to the second floor of the bakery and how much that would cost. He agrees that he would be able to do it and have it done before winter as the men he usually works with are looking for a new job. It will cost quite a bit of coin, nearly all I’ll earn from the lottery for three months, but I’m able to barter with him and get the price knocked down to something much more reasonable if we also supply the men with meat and bread. We reach a tentative agreement, although I’ll need to speak with Peeta about it first.

We head to the bakery. Prim chatters on excitedly about the work that needs to be done and I nervously adjust the strap of my quiver along my chest. I didn’t speak with Peeta about doing any of this beforehand and I hope that he won’t be angry, but I’m also worried that I won’t be able to get enough meat to feed us and the men. While it isn’t winter yet, cold weather is approaching and that will make for long days in the woods if I hope to come back with large enough hauls, especially since I am not the only hunter out there.

We enter the bakery’s back door and are instantly hit with the overwhelming smell of chocolate. Prim stops talking and meets my eyes with a giant smile on her face before she drops her bag in the hall and runs toward the kitchen. We’ve only been lucky enough to have chocolate twice before. When I was nine, my father had somehow save enough money to purchase three brownies from the Mellark bakery as a special treat for “his girls.” Prim and I squealed with delight when he opened the paper bakery sack. I can still remember the smell, how the brownie felt in my hands and how my mother fed small bites of hers to our father. The last time I tasted chocolate was shortly after the end of the war. The new government sent out shipments of luxury items to all of the districts. The shipment wasn’t large, but it was filled with exotic fruits, meats, chocolates and candies. I’m assuming they were things that were in abundance in the Capitol at the time. It was enough to keep the district buzzing for about a week before the euphoria wore off.

I make my way to the kitchen and find Prim perched on a stool watching Peeta put the finishing touches on a small chocolate cake. The look of concentration on Peeta’s face mixed with the look of pure elation on Prim’s makes me smile. He looks up from the cake and winks playfully at Prim handing her the chocolate frosting covered spatula he had been using. He turns to me and his smile lights up the room. 

“A chocolate cake?” I inquire.

“I found a bit of cocoa powder in the storage room when we were cleaning. I wanted to celebrate Prim’s arrival.”

“We haven’t had chocolate in ages,” Prim says around the spatula still in her mouth. “This is so good. Thank you, Peeta.” 

He simply nods and turns to tend to a pot that is resting on the burning logs in one of the ovens. Prim’s presence seems to momentarily diffuse the tension between Peeta and I. We eat a stew of root vegetables and leftover roast from the day before then we each get a piece of the cake. It’s moist and delicious. I have to repress a moan on the first bite. Prim has no problem letting her pleasure be known. She’s making so much noise that Peeta and I share a laugh and her face turns red. I see glimpses of the old Peeta come out when he talks with Prim. He’s charming and funny. He knows just what to say to get her to smile or to make her giggle. He seems much more at ease with her than with me, but that’s not a surprise. I’m surly and standoffish even on my best days. Prim is adorable and friendly. People love her. They tolerate me and that’s mostly because I share the game I kill. 

Prim and Peeta are engaged in a conversation about which plants can be used medicinally and which can also be used in recipes. I’ve been waiting for a way to talk to Peeta about Thom, but I’ve been too afraid of spoiling the conversation or the jovial mood that has fallen over the bakery. Prim beats me to it.

“We spoke to Thom today. Do you know Thom?” She asks sweetly.

Peeta nods, glancing in my direction. I use that as my chance.

“He has a crew of men looking for work. He’s skilled in construction and has agreed to help repair the second floor of the bakery,” I add. Prim nods enthusiastically, but Peeta’s brows furrow.

“I don’t have a way to pay them for that. At least not yet.”

“I was able to make a deal with Thom that he will do the work for mostly fresh meat and bread. He is only asking for very little coin and I would help to pay for it, of course.”

“I can’t take your money, Katniss. This building isn’t your responsibility,” he says quietly.

My eyes dart to Prim. She is leaning on her elbows watching the interaction between Peeta and I intensely. 

“I want to help. You are feeding and housing my sister when you don’t have to and – and what happens if we have children? They will be mine just as much as they are yours and they will deserve a place to live.”

He stares at me. His mouth is slightly parted. The look in his eyes is so sincere that it feels like he is staring straight into my soul. It’s unnerving to be looked at with that much reverence. Yet, my fingers twitch to touch him. I can’t hold his gaze. I clear my throat, getting up from the table and grabbing the dirty dishes. Peeta finds an old chess board and begins to teach Prim how to play. I keep my twitching fingers busy washing the dishes. The scene is downright domestic and I do a double take at the pair with their matching hair and blue eyes joking and teasing one another as they play the game. Suddenly, I can see my future. My blonde children laughing with Peeta as he teaches them the rules of a board game. I expect to hate it, but that isn’t the feeling it gives me at all. The vision pulls at something deep inside of me, something I didn’t even know existed until this very moment. It takes a second for me to put a name to the feeling, but when I do it scares the shit out of me. It’s longing. I _want_ this even though I’ve told myself for years that I didn’t. 

This is all too much. It’s too hot in this room. I can’t breathe. Wasn’t I just out in the woods two days ago worrying about how we were going to survive the winter? 

I rush past Prim and Peeta and out the back door collapsing on the back steps with my head in my hands. The sun has already started to dip below the horizon bathing the district in his waning light. The air is acrid, filled with dying leaves and chimney smoke. At least it’s cool as I inhale it into my lungs. My heart hammers against my ribs in an unsteady cadence. The entrance to the meadow is just visible from where I sit. It didn’t used to be that way. There were buildings and barns blocking the view. Those haven’t stood in years. I like this view better anyway. A doe wanders past one of the high steel beams that used to anchor the fence that bordered the district. That fencing has long been removed, but the poles run deep into the ground and have been left standing. The doe munches on the high meadow grass unaware that she is being watched or that she feasts on a graveyard. I could easily take her down. It would be a clean kill, but darkness is consuming the sky now, so I’ll leave her to forage in peace. 

The heavy, wooden door opens and Prim’s slender arms wrap around my shoulders. Her head rests against my back.

“Are you okay?” She whispers into my shoulder blades.

“I don’t know,” I reply. I could lie and try to save her the worry, but I don’t have it in me.

“Did we do something wrong?”

“No, Duck. I’m just overwhelmed I think. I like seeing you and Peeta getting along.”

Her arms move from my shoulders and her fingers remove the tie on the end of my hair. She combs the tresses through her fingers. “I like him. I think we could be happy here.”

“Me too,” I say, my teeth worrying my bottom lip as Prim’s fingers begin to re-braid my hair.

“Then, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know how to be happy,” I mutter. “I can’t remember the last time that I was.”

She ties off the end of the freshly woven braid and joins me on the step. 

“When you told me that you were signing up for the lottery I was so worried. You could have ended up with anyone. You could have been used or forced to do things you weren’t comfortable with, but I think you might have gotten lucky with Peeta.”

That’s the second time someone has told me that today. 

I hug her to me and we watch the doe for a little while longer until the darkness hides her from sight. When the chill starts to make Prim shiver and her eyes start to droop, we head back into the bakery. The kitchen is dark except for the glow from the oven. The power must have cut out again at some point today. The dishes have been put away. The chess board has been cleared. In its place are two oil lamps. Peeta is in the same position I found him in the night before; leaning against the brick of the oven with a sketchbook in his hands. 

I grab one of the lamps and lead Prim to her room. The room is immaculate. It has been scrubbed of any trace of dust or dirt. The cot has fresh linens. There’s a small nightstand by the cot that Peeta must have dug up from somewhere. It is clear he spent a good portion of the time I was gone working on this room. Prim places the lamp on the nightstand and shoos me from the room. I roll my eyes as I place a kiss to her forehead and bid her goodnight. It’s easy for me to forget that she is 14 now and doesn’t need me to hold her hand. I linger in the hallway for a moment nervously playing with my braid. The past two days have been much more intense than I had thought they would be. I had assumed that things would be more straightforward, that whomever I was partnered with would coexist with me on some kind of acquaintance level. We would have to have sex, of course, but in my mind, I pictured it as more of a chore or a job that we were obligated to do and once it was done we would both go on living our separate lives. 

My thoughts and feelings regarding Peeta are infinitely more complicated. In the short span of two days our lives have become completely intertwined. I don’t see him as someone I want to separate myself from, someone I only want as an acquaintance. I can tell that Prim already adores him and that endears me to him even more. And, there’s also that kiss. I never thought I would want to kiss anyone, but I can’t deny that there’s an increasingly large part of me that wouldn’t mind kissing Peeta again. 

I join him beneath the oven on the kitchen floor. For a long time, we don’t speak. The only sound filling the kitchen is the scratch of pencil to paper. I don’t mind it. I like the quiet. It is my favorite part of hunting. I think some people might think that growing up in the war has made me ruthless, that I enjoy hunting for the thrill of the kill. That couldn’t be farther from the truth. I’ve never enjoyed the act of killing another living thing. I do it and I’m good at it, but it isn’t something I necessarily take pleasure from. I like the solitude of the woods. I like the way my breath comes out in little clouded puffs on especially cold mornings. I like the smell of pine in winter. I like the patience and concentration. I like the feel of the bow string as it slips past my fingers. I like the skill involved in the hunt. I don’t like the kill.

Peeta closes the notebook, laying it to the side and leaning against the brick. He hums a contented sigh.

“When I was little, I used to sneak out of my bed after everyone was asleep and I would curl up on the rug by the fireplace. I’ve always loved the warmth and the glow of a fire. My father would find me asleep on the rug when he got up in the morning and carry me back to bed,” he says, smiling at the memory. “I’m looking forward to being able to sit by that fireplace again.”

I don’t say anything. I know that his father was killed by stray bullets when a gun fight broke out in the streets. We were 15. A few months later he joined the rebellion. Did he join because of his father? 

He opens his eyes, turning to look at me. “I’m sorry if I did something to upset you. I know this day has been strange. This whole thing it – it doesn’t feel real.”

“I’m happy that Prim is here and I’m happy that she likes you and that you make her laugh. I feel so unsettled though. If that makes sense.”

He nods, closing his eyes. I think he might be falling asleep, but then he speaks again. “About this morning…I don’t want your pity, Katniss. Please don’t kiss me because you think you have to or because you feel sorry for me.”

“I don’t pity you,” I say unabashedly because it’s the truth. “I feel bad about what has happened to you, but everyone has had something happen to them. That’s just the way life is. And, I kissed you because –”

I stop because I can’t find the words to explain why I kissed him. In the moment it felt like the right thing to do. I wanted to comfort him and it was the only way I could think to do so. There has also been this unexplainable link between us, this pull towards him that I’ve felt since the day he threw me the bread. That pull has only gotten stronger the more time I spend with him.

“Because?” he inquires. His eyes are on me. His attentiveness makes me feel warm all over. 

“Because, I wanted to.”

He doesn’t say anything after that. I watch as he uses his crutch and the wall to pull himself up to standing. He closes the oven door and reaches out his hand to me. I take it and allow him to help me to my feet. I grab the lamp and he leads me down the hall, not letting go of my hand until we’re at the bedroom door. We take turns in the bathroom, this time I change into my faded, comfortable nightgown and Peeta changes into a short sleeve shirt and pajama bottoms. It’s much more relaxed as we climb into bed compared to the night before. We still don’t touch, but the space between us has lessened. Sleep pulls me under easily. The weight of the blankets, the rhythm of Peeta’s breathing and his intoxicating scent combine to create a sort of sleep syrup for my mind and I’m unconscious within minutes of my head hitting the pillow.

_There’s laughter just outside the meadow. Curiously, the fence has been repaired and I can hear the faint buzz of electricity as it travels through the metal barrier. I’m confused. The fence hasn’t been up for years and it hasn’t been electrified since the fall of District Five. SThe laughter sounds again. It’s tinkling and melodic…and familiar._

_Prim._

_I run along the fence line, my eyes sweeping the trees on the other side for any sign of her blonde locks. I run until my side aches and my lungs burn. I stumble over an exposed tree root and tumble to the ground in a puff of coal dust that clogs my lungs. I gag and gasp for air. The ground rattles and I hear the low, deep rumble approaching just beyond the tree line._

_A bomb strike._

_“PRIM!”_

_I scramble trying to regain my footing. The sound moves closer, shaking the ground as I move on unsteady legs. A glow illuminates in the trees, a harsh red and yellow. Large clouds of smoke and debris rise into the sky._

_Fire._

_That’s when I see her clinging to the low branches of a tree just beyond the fence, tears streaming down her face in fear. The earth shakes violently. We’re running out of time._

_“PRIM,” I scream again, my voice hoarse and choked._

_I reach the fence and hesitate. What do I do? If I touch it, I’ll die. If I stay here, I’ll die. Prim’s wide eyes plead with me to help, but I stand on the other side of the fence, just a few feet from her and I’m helpless. I can’t save her. I scream and sink to my knees. The heat from the fire is too much. The smoke and the coal. I can’t breathe, but still I scream._

_“Katniss.”_

_Someone’s hands are on me trying to move me from the fence. If she dies than I’ll die too. I silently plead for them to leave me alone._

_“Katniss,” they say again with more force._

_I flail my arms. My fists make contact._

My eyes fly open. 

It’s dark. My breaths are ragged. My throat feels raw, but no longer clogged with dust and smoke. My hand stings. Peeta is sitting upright against the headboard a look of surprise in his eyes and a trickle of blood coming from his nose. I rush to my knees, reaching tentative fingers towards his face.

“You’re bleeding. Peeta, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” he says using the hem of his shirt to wipe away the blood. “Are you okay? You were screaming and thrashing. When I realized you were still asleep, I tried to wake you up and – “

“It was a nightmare. I haven’t had one that bad in a while. I don’t know. It was bad. Prim.”

Tremors wrack through my body, after effects of the dream and before I can stop myself, I start to cry. Peeta’s strong arms are around me pulling me too him as I hide my face in embarrassment. He holds me tightly and lets me cry, laying his cheek on my head. 

“You don’t have to apologize for anything. I get them too,” he says, moving down into a laying position on the bed. 

I inhale deeply, his scent filling my nostrils. His grip on me loosens, but I don’t try to move away. He’s warm and the steady beat of his heart is soothing. The other side of the bed seems too far away now. When he realizes I’m staying put, he rests his hand against my upper arm. His fingers begin playing idly with the end of my braid. I murmur one more slurred apology against his chest letting my eyes flutter close once again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and reviews! I was hesitant with the idea of this story, but I'm glad you like it. I can't tell you how happy it makes me! I hope to have the next chapter up sometime next week.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I use a couple direct quotes from Catching Fire in this chapter. I hope you can forgive the plagiarism. I couldn't help it because they fit so wonderfully and they are some of my favorite lines from that book.

It’s amazing how quickly things can return to some variation of normal. Peeta, Prim and I find a daily routine that brings normalcy in its consistency. Peeta and I wake early. He begins the baking and I head for the woods. Prim has breakfast with Peeta and goes to school while Thom and his crew arrive to work on the upstairs. Peeta and I sit together beneath the ovens in the evening. Sometimes we talk as if we’ll never run out of things to say. Other times, we barely speak. He sketches and I read or restring my bow. There is peace in the silence. 

At night we hold each other to keep the nightmares at bay. That’s as far as we dare to go physically though I often replay the kiss, the softness of his lips against mine, the pressure of his fingertips on my waist. I catch myself staring at him as we move through each day. He’s lost some weight since the end of the war, but his upper body is as strong and broad as I remember it being. I fantasize about what it would feel like to run my hands over his bare skin. Prim catches me staring and hides a giggle in her elbow disguising it as a cough, but I flush scarlet all the same. Peeta watches us with amused confusion. I’ve caught him staring at me before too when he thinks no one is paying attention. I wonder if he thinks about the kiss as much as I do. 

Before I know it, three weeks have passed since we signed the lottery contract. We’re entering the second week in October and the mornings have moved from brisk to cold. I cup my hands in front of my mouth trying to warm them up with my breath. The wind whips through the trees blowing wisps of hair out of my braid and across my face. The sun stays hidden behind dense, grey clouds making the sharp bite of the wind even more brutal. Huddling closer to the trunk of the tree I currently find myself in is my only hope to fight the wind. If I can bring down a deer I wouldn’t need to come out for several days, even after we give a large portion of it to Thom’s crew. They are nearly finished with the upstairs. The shrapnel and water damage were fairly extensive, but they have been working quickly to get it done by winter. Thankfully, that means that I won’t need to hunt as much and can only venture out in the cold when absolutely necessary. 

I hear the light crunch of leaves and the crack of a small twig breaking to my left. Nocking the arrow, I pull back the bow string and ready myself. I’m precariously balanced on this limb, squatting with one foot in front of the other with the trunk against my backside for balance. The antlers come into view first and I heave a sigh of relief to know that I can be done and headed back to the warm interior of the bakery’s kitchen soon. The buck’s massive frame steps completely into view and I only hesitate for a second before letting the arrow fly wondering how in the hell I’m going to get this back into town. The arrow pierces the deer’s flesh in a clean, fatal shot. The animal startles and stumbles, running several yards before collapsing to the ground. Thankfully, he had run in the direction I needed to go. I drop down from the tree, throwing my bow over my shoulder when a familiar voice speaks from the brush behind me.

“Nice shot.”

I stiffen and set my shocked features before turning around. When I do I’m met with a pair of Seam grey eyes just a shade darker than mine. Gale.

“I got lucky,” I say, my voice hoarse from the cold and the wind. 

His eyes rake over me. “By the look of your face and fingers, you were probably in that tree for a while. The shot was beautiful. That takes a lot more than luck.”

I stuff my hands in my pockets and start to make my way towards the deer. Wordlessly he follows, matching my stride. We work in tandem to field dress the deer, neither one of us speaking. We’ve done this together many times over the years, although this is by far the largest buck I’ve ever taken down. 

Gale is dressed in high tech hunting pants and boots and a thick brown jacket, a far cry from the skinny boy with holes in the knees of his worn-out jeans that I used to know. While we had been neighbors our entire lives, Gale was a couple years older than me and we didn’t become close until I ran into him in the woods shortly after I turned twelve. His father had been killed in the same mine collapse as my father and our shared tragedy as well as our love of the woods formed the basis of our bond. 

Gale heaved the cleaned carcass across his shoulders and we began our trek back into town. We hadn’t even made it ten steps before he spoke again.

“What are you doing, Katniss?”

The use of my name nearly made my steps falter. He hadn’t called me Katniss in the six years we had been friends. 

“Hunting. What are you doing, Gale? Shouldn’t you be in the Capitol guarding the new president?”

He rolled his eyes and scoffed. “I don’t know what it is you think I do, but it’s not guarding the president.” 

We continue walking in silence, crossing past the fence poles and skirting around the meadow. I knew he was waiting for me to speak, but I didn’t know what he wanted me to say. Finally, he got tired of waiting. 

“The _lottery_? Really, Katniss?”

I stop with a huff and look at him with disbelieving, narrowed eyes. 

“Was I supposed to let Prim starve? Move to another district and leave her behind? Leave everyone and everything I’ve ever known? What did you expect me to do?”

“Why didn’t you ask me or speak with my mother? I would have helped you as best I could. I don’t have much to send home, but they aren’t starving.”

“I don’t want your money, Gale. I don’t need a debt to be repaid with no way to repay it.” 

I begin moving again. A few errant raindrops hit the toe of my hunting boots and I know we need to get this deer to the butcher. We cross into the alleyway behind the bakery. The heavy door is propped open slightly to let out the heat created when all three ovens are blazing. I walk quickly crossing through the town square to where the butcher’s shop sits. A deer this large is not something I can break down myself, so I need the butcher’s help which will cost me a few coins but the first lottery payment was made to us last week, so I can spare the money especially if it means we are well stocked on meat and able to provide Thom’s crew with an abundant payment. We drop the deer off with a promise to pick up the meat later in the day. 

I circle back towards the bakery with Gale hot on my heels. When we reach the alleyway beside the building I stop. I’m cold and filthy. I want nothing more than to wash my hands and change my clothes. I don’t know what Gale is thinking, but he’s not going to continue to follow me inside, so I give him a pointed look pleading with my eyes for him to just say whatever it is that he needs to say. 

He sighs. “Rory told me it was Mellark that you got partnered with. How convenient for him.”

I shrug and give my head a quick shake. I don’t know what he’s implying. Is it convenient that Peeta was partnered with someone who can hunt and is capable enough to help him with the bakery? Yes, it is. I just wish Gale would get to the point.

“It’s random,” I say in reply. “But, we’re doing okay here. Peeta is good to us.” 

I’m hoping this will set his mind at ease and quell whatever it is about this that brought him back to the district.

“Catnip, I-I can be good to you too.”

My brows furrow and I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Where is this coming from? He left to serve the new Capitol and that is his world now. If this is about his money again, I won’t discuss it with him twice. This is verging on becoming a fight. I can feel it in the tension in my arms and the frustration rolling in my stomach.

“Why are you here, Gale?”

He blew out a nervous breath, stepping forward and grabbing my blood-stained hands. 

“Come back to the Capitol with me. Prim can come too. I’m here for the next two days on leave and then I have to go back. Come with me.”

The brick wall of the bakery hit my back, scratching the exposed skin on the back of my neck. I hadn’t even noticed I was moving. I stare up at Gale with startled, unblinking eyes. 

“What? Where would we live? What would I do there? What about school for Prim?” I look away shaking my head. “What about the contract I signed?”

He moves closer to me, squeezing my hands gently. 

“We could find you a job. I’m sure I could get you a job with the government. They have school there too, so Prim would still be able to go. I can get the contract taken care of. I know people who work for The Office of Population Management. It won’t be a problem. And…you both could live with me.”

It won’t be a problem? Did he really have that much pull that he could get my lottery contract voided? 

I scoff, giving him a dubious look. “You make it sound so simple. Rory told me you live in a tiny apartment that’s half the size of the Seam houses. How would Prim and I live with you?”

“Well, they would give me a bigger place if we got married.”

I start to laugh at the ridiculousness of that statement, but one look at the earnestness in his eyes tells me he isn’t joking. I stare up at him completely speechless.

“It’s the perfect solution for everything,” he continues, excitement creeping into his voice. “It would automatically void your contract and allow you and Prim to travel and live with me.” He is practically pulsating with excitement now. His grip on my hands tightens. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. It’s the perfect solution to all of this. We could go to the Justice Building tomorrow and be on the train the next day.”

“Tomorrow?” I rasp.

“Yes! You and Prim will love the Capitol. It didn’t sustain the damage that the districts did. There are parks and restaurants and theaters. There’s never an electric shortage. You won’t have to worry about food or hunting. Prim can go to the best schools Panem has to offer.”

I can’t dispute his claims that the Capitol is far superior to what District Twelve has to offer. It has always been far superior, but it isn’t home and I am almost certain I won’t love it. 

“I like hunting,” I say in a near whisper. 

Gale stares at me confused and then smiles. “There’s an archery range in the old Hunger Games training facility. It’s where government officers train now, but I’m sure I could get you in to shoot from time to time.”

From time to time? I didn’t like the sound of that. The woods were a second home to me. Shooting arrows for an automated scoreboard didn’t hold the same appeal. However, there was something else bothering me about this arrangement.

“What about Peeta?” I ask. 

“What about him?” Gale counters.

“If the contract is voided for me, then it’s voided for him too. He didn’t sign up on a whim. He needs the money, just like me.”

“He can sign up again in the spring with someone new,” Gale says with a shrug of indifference. 

The thought of Peeta being partnered with someone else, having children with someone else makes my chest tighten and stomach cramp in an almost nauseous way. Now that we’ve gotten to know each other better, I can’t imagine anyone doing this with him but me. However, I can also see all the points Gale is making about the benefits of the Capitol for Prim. She would get a better education and have more opportunities. Would she want to go? I’m not sure she would want to leave home. I’m not sure I want to leave home, to leave the woods, the broken streets, the bakery, Peeta.

“Gale, I need to t –,“ I begin, but then I hear the distinctive thump of his crutch and turn just as he appears in the alleyway.

“Katniss?” Peeta asks. His eyes dart between me, Gale and our joined, blood stained hands. 

I quickly pull my hands out of Gale’s grasp, chancing a look up at Gale before turning my attention to Peeta. I don’t miss how Peeta’s gaze hardens. I take a few steps until I’m standing between them. I’m struck by how odd it is to be standing between my past and my potential future.

“Are you okay?” Peeta asks in a quiet voice directed only at me. He looks down at my hands.

“O-Oh, yes! I got a deer. A buck. It was a lucky shot. It’s at the butcher’s. Thankfully, Gale is here on leave and was in the woods when I brought it down. He helped me carry it back.”

Peeta nods, turning his attention to Gale. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

“I’m a Staff Sergeant now,” Gale says with authority.

“Yes, sir.” 

Peeta looks between us again. I can see warring emotions in his eyes. His stance is stiff and I can’t help but notice his white-knuckle grip on the handle of his crutch. Yet, he somehow is able to keep his voice even and polite. I still haven’t figured out how he does that. 

“Would you like to have dinner with us, Staff Sergeant? You’re welcome to invite your family as well. We should have more than enough with the deer you hauled in.”

Gale looks taken aback. His eyes narrow. He is trying to figure out what the angle is behind the offer. I recognize the look because I felt the same way only a few short weeks ago. I know better now. Peeta is very clever and smart, but he is also an indisputably good person. Gale is a commanding officer and I’ve witnessed Peeta show deference to several people who outranked him during his time with the army, namely Haymitch. The dinner offer is more than likely just a show of that deference and a clever way to share in the wealth of the deer without making anyone feel indebted to him.

Gale pauses. His mouth opens and his eyes meet mine, the plea clear in them. He wants me to leave with him now, turn away and not look back. My eyes fall to my bloody hands.

“I need to go wash up before Prim gets back from school,” I say, skirting my way past Peeta and into the bakery. As I reach the door I hear Gale’s voice, low with a touch of disappointment, confirm that he will be glad to join us for dinner. 

I don’t dare breathe until I reach the bathroom, shutting the door and sliding down its length until I reach the floor. Luckily, the electric is back on because in my rush to escape the mess I found myself in I forget to grab a lamp. The bell above the bakery door jingles and my chest tightens. I listen to the uneven gait as it nears the bathroom door. Panicking, I reach out and turn on the faucet for the bathtub, the loud rush of water filling the small room with sound. I press my ear to the door and listen. There’s a long pause and the faint whisper of a sigh before he walks away. 

I undress quickly and step into the warm tub to scrub away the dirt and blood in an almost maniac state, adrenaline making me shake. I can’t get my mind to slow down. Tears threaten to make an appearance. 

I can’t deny that Gale has excellent points in his proposition. If I was willing to be paired with a stranger why wouldn’t I at least entertain his offer? It was really no different. I would be trading one form of security with another. Except, a marriage is a lot different than a two-year contract. There’s an expectation there of love and commitment. Did I feel that way about Gale? Then, there’s Prim. How would she would feel about leaving home? 

_Home_. 

It makes my heart ache to even think about leaving, but at least with Gale there would be no immediate requirement to have children. The government still encourages it, and even provides a financial benefit for those married couples that do, but we would be under no contractual obligation to have children.

The kiss with Gale filters through my runaway thoughts. How it made me feel. Would I be okay without the feeling of free falling or the shuddering sensations that a touch could bring when our lips met? When we did more than that? Would that feeling develop over time? Would I be patient enough to wait and see if it did? 

It’s getting dangerously close to the one-month deadline that Peeta and I set for ourselves. If I was going to make a run for it, now would be the time, but why does the thought of exiting the bakery for the last time make it hard to breathe? 

A high-pitched squeal peels down the hall followed by the stomping of feet. The bathroom door is thrown open and Prim hurtles herself inside, closing the door behind her. She sits on the toilet, bouncing with excitement.

“Peeta said the Hawthorne’s are coming for dinner. And, you shot a deer! I love venison. I might go get some wildflowers from the tree line for the table and maybe I can weave some into my hair. Rory told me once that I looked pretty with flowers in my hair.” 

She lets out a wistful sigh and watches me bathe waiting for me to exude the same excitement as her. I can’t even pretend to be excited for her. I can barely summon the desire to get out of the tub. 

“Gale’s home.” It is all I can think to say and I try as I might to give off an air of indifference, Prim sees through it. Her happiness visibly deflates.

“Oh, shit,” she says, her hand reaching for the end of her braid. She’s picked up my bad habits.

“Primrose,” I chastise. She ignores me, handing me a towel as I step from the tub. 

“Have you seen him?”

I nod.

“What did he say?”

“He asked me to marry him. He wants us to go back to the Capitol with him,” I reply with a sigh, wrapping the towel around my body. 

Prim’s eyes go wide and she nods like she knew this was coming. I shake my head in confusion and wave my hand beckoning her to spill whatever she knows. 

“Rory said Gale was angry when he found out that you signed up for the lottery. I knew he had feelings for you, but when he left I didn’t think he would ever come back.”

I never knew he had feelings for me. I guess I should’ve suspected something when he kissed me, but I thought it was more of a final goodbye to a good friend. I’ve never really paid attention to most things revolving around romantic love. I’ve never had time. When a war wasn’t being fought on my doorstep, I was trying to make sure that Prim and I had enough to eat, that she had shoes that fit and a warm coat for winter. Love has been the furthest thing from my mind. 

“What happens now,” Prim asks, her voice small, worried. 

I explain the proposal Gale made and how it would void the lottery contract. I talk about how the schools are better for her and opportunities for her future would be plentiful. 

“You could be a doctor,” I say. “A real one in a real hospital with real medicine. You wouldn’t have to rely on herbs and plants. Think of the difference you could make. It could be so much more than if we stayed here.”

She nods. She can’t deny that all the things I’m saying aren’t true. Her future would be so much brighter in the Capitol, still unshed tears shine in her eyes. 

“So, the only reason you would marry Gale and leave would be for me?”

“The only reason I’ve done anything has been for you.”

She looks away allowing the tears to fall. 

* * *

Dinner has me flustered. Prim’s worried tone didn’t help either. I adjust the hem of my button-down blouse for the seventh time. It is something that had belonged to my mother. Outside of the wedding dress, it is one of the nicest pieces of clothing I own. The tired black slacks I pair with it can’t be helped. I don’t own any pants that don’t contain stains of one sort or another. I’ve never taken this much time on my appearance, even when I decided to join the lottery. It seems ludicrous to be this nervous about one meal. Loosening my shoulders, I try to exhale the nerves away and feel nothing but the flutter of butterflies in my stomach.

Gale’s voice and Peeta’s clipped reply drift down the hall and through the cracked bedroom door. I recognize Rory’s voice as well and hear Prim excitedly greet them both. Pretending to have more bravery than I actually feel, I step out of the bedroom and enter the kitchen. Gale and Rory stand awkwardly in the doorway between the back door and the kitchen entrance. Peeta is hunched over a roasting pan he has pulled out of the oven. Prim looks terrified and unsure. I am positive this is going to end in only disaster.

I fumble with the hem of my shirt once more readying myself to somehow break the tension when the bell above the front door jingles and all the heads in the room turn towards the sound. Peeta brings the roasting pan to the center of the already set table, beside two loaves of fresh bread, and wipes his hands on the apron tied around his waist.

“I invited Haymitch, um, I mean Captain Abernathy,” he says, chancing a look at Gale and pulling the apron off. 

Peeta disappears into the front of the bakery to get Haymitch. As soon as the door closes, Gale stalks towards me. 

“What kind of game are we playing, Katniss?” he says in a hushed voice meant only for me. “If you want me to have dinner with a drunken buffoon and a townie cripple, I will. But, these aren’t our people. These aren’t our friends. We are just wasting time with this nonsense.”

I jolt back, the air leaving my lungs like I’ve been punched. I gape at him. This isn’t about Town and Seam anymore. The men he called a buffoon and a cripple had fought bravely beside him for our freedom. How could he think so little of either of them? I shake my head in disbelief, anger making my cheeks dark and splotchy. This is not the Gale I knew. At least, it was never a side of him that he had shown me before.

“ _Who are you_?” I ask incredulously.

He takes a step back. Over his shoulder I see Rory, his sad eyes finding mine. I can see the apology in them. He looks back at Gale and then down at the floor. Prim has moved closer to his side and grabs his hand. 

“Well, isn’t this cozy,” Haymitch’s sardonic voice rings out over the kitchen. 

Peeta moves around him to a chair at the table and beckons everyone to sit. He refuses to meet my eyes, looking at everything and everyone in the room but me. I sit across from Haymitch, making sure Prim is by my side. Rory sits beside her and Gale occupies the empty chair at the end of the table. 

Haymitch’s stern eyes sweep over the group. “Hawthorne,” he says in greeting, nodding towards Gale. “Younger Hawthorne,” he greets towards Rory. 

“Captain,” Gale replies tightly. 

Haymitch grunts. I notice he doesn’t correct him like he does when Peeta uses his title. “Where are the other two Hawthornes? Did you forget to invite them, boy? I know you have better manners than that.” He turns to Peeta who shakes his head, a rebuttal on his lips, when Gale chimes in.

“Posy isn’t feeling well. My mother decided to stay home with her and not risk spreading the illness.”

I catch Prim’s confused look and raised eyebrow out of the corner of my eye. The side of her mouth turns down slightly. He’s lying, but that’s just as well. This dinner is going to be terrible enough as it is.

“I’ll be sure to make up some plates for you to take back to them,” Peeta says softly. “I have some leftover chicken broth as well. They are welcome to it too. It always makes me feel better when I am ill.”

Gale’s eyes find mine and the irritation in them is clear. He might have become a person who says unkind things to people I’ve grown to care about, but I know he was raised not to turn his nose up at someone else’s kindness. “Thanks. I’m sure they will appreciate that,” he says.

Another awkward silence falls over the table before Haymitch complains that he is starving and didn’t walk all the way from Victor’s Village for nothing and we begin to eat.

The atmosphere around the dinner table feels the same as the dinners I had experienced after a funeral when everyone got together to mourn. Where if I spoke above a whisper that would be too loud and an apology was always waiting to be uttered. This was no different. 

The conversation is stilted at best and excruciating at worst. Prim tries to inject her sunny disposition to lighten the mood, but it constantly falls flat. Eventually, she gives up trying, focusing on the meal on her plate. Gale talks about his work at the Capitol and about how much they have done to rebuild the country’s center of government. He says it is almost like the war never happened there. 

The rest of the table doesn’t know what to say to that. Everywhere we look is a reminder of the war here. I catch Peeta glance down at his missing limb before using his fork to move food around on his plate in an attempt to appear like he’s eating. Haymitch, who has the most Capitol experience of all of us, just shrugs and nods his head like he assumes that if anywhere in the country would be basically back to normal, it would be the Capitol.

Gale’s frustration has been growing throughout the course of the meal. He has a temper held back with a short fuse and is quick to taken action first and think of the consequences later. We’re similar in that respect. So, it didn’t surprise me when Haymitch’s indifference was the spark that ignited his fuse. The outburst had been building since we met in the woods that morning. Probably before that, if I’m being honest with myself. 

“Have something to say, Captain?” Gale spit out. 

Haymitch leaned back in his chair with a smirk on his lips that will do nothing but further instigate the situation. Prim and Rory rise from the table, gathering the dishes and taking them to the sink.

“You speak pretty highly of the Capitol for someone who just two years ago could hardly stand to acknowledge its existence,” Haymitch replies succinctly. 

Gale’s face is flushed in poorly hidden disdain. “That Capitol is not this Capitol.”

Haymitch scoffs, pulling a flask from his jacket pocket. “The Capitol is the Capitol no matter who is running it. They may have good intentions now, but the road to hell is paved with those…or at least that’s what people say.”

“What people? Drunken fools like you?” Gale growls.

Haymitch is on his feet in seconds. Peeta rises too, his hand finding Haymitch’s arm in an attempt to calm him, but he shakes out of Peeta’s grasp, pointing a finger in Gale’s direction.

“People much smarter than you, boy.”

“I am not your boy,” Gale bellows, rising so quickly that his chair flies backward crashing to the ground.

“Haymitch,” Peeta breathes, his hand finding Haymitch’s arm once more. “Let’s go. I’ll walk you home. I could use the fresh air.”

Haymitch nods with a grunt and turns to leave. I’m frozen in my chair, unable to wrap my mind around any part of this day. As they pass by my seat, Haymitch directs his gaze towards me and I know he knows about Gale’s proposal and the options I have to weigh. His eyes are hard for a moment only to give way to a genuine softness I haven’t seen before from Haymitch. There’s a plea in them like he’s silently willing me to make the right choice. Right before they disappear through the door separating the kitchen from the front of the bakery, Peeta turns back locking eyes with me for the briefest of seconds. Then, they’re gone. 

The bell sounds over the front door. Gale lets out a frustrated groan. I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from the door. The sounds of stacking ceramic catch my attention. Prim and Rory have finished the dishes and Prim has made up two plates for Gale and Rory to take home. Rory hold them tightly in his hands and looks to Prim like he’s willing the night to be over. I can’t agree with him more. 

“Let’s go, Rory,” Gale says, the sound of defeat evident in his voice. 

I finally turn to look at him again and I can see the regret in his eyes. He knows he made a mess out of the dinner and disrespected two people who did not deserve it. I know he feels badly because I know him too well. I know exactly what my life would be like with him.

“Bye Prim…Catnip,” he says quietly as he and Rory move towards the back door. 

I tip my head, not trusting myself to speak. Prim hurries around the table, walking them both out into the chilly night air. When I hear the heavy door close with a resounding bang, I exhale a breath that feels like it’s been lodged in my lungs for hours. My head rest against my forearms on the table. Prim’s light footsteps cross the room. She plops down in the chair beside me and groans. I turn my head to look at her, leaving it resting on my arms. Her expression is thoughtful, but worried. 

“What are we going to do, Kat?” she asks, her voice sounds so small and childlike. My chest tightens. 

“I don’t know, Duck,” I mumble. 

“If you weren’t thinking about me, what would you do?”

I don’t know how to answer that. If I wasn’t worried about her, we wouldn’t be sitting in this bakery to begin with. I probably would’ve joined the rebellion when I turned 16, like Peeta did. Who knows where I would be now. I might be a body under the swaying grass of the meadow or I might be living in a tiny apartment in the Capitol. Thinking about what ifs only makes my head hurt and a headache is the last thing I need. 

I don’t know how long Prim and I sit in silence together. The electricity begins to flicker and then vanishes altogether. We light the oil lamps and open the oven door. I add a few logs to stoke the flames getting them to burn hotter and brighter. We sit together against the brick with books in our hands, neither of us turning a page. Darkness has blanketed the entire district for some time. Prim yawns deeply and I know that it’s late. Peeta hasn’t returned home yet. It feels irrational to worry. I know he’s more than capable of taking care of himself, but he left with Haymitch hours ago. Images of him injured along the road somewhere between here and Victor’s Village fill my mind. It’s cold and I can’t remember if he left with a jacket.

My foot taps nervously on the floor. Prim’s head slumps against my shoulder, her gentle snores filling my ears. The fire above our heads begins to dim. I tell myself to give him thirty more minutes, but in the darkness, I can’t see the clock ticking on the wall, so I count the seconds and minutes in my head anxiously chewing my thumb nail and ignoring the growing pit in my stomach. 

When the thirty minutes have passed, I wake Prim and help her as she shuffles to bed, kissing her forehead lightly and telling her I’ll be right back. I grab my jacket, hat, gloves, bow and quiver. I know my thoughts have run away with me, or at least I hope they have, but I’m taking the bow just in case. As I turn to leave, I see Peeta’s jacket hanging on the hook by the back door. I grab it as well and try to tamper down the growing panic.

I hurry out of the bakery down the empty streets until they narrow into a well-worn dirt path. My heart rate speeds up the longer I go without any sign of Peeta. The wrought iron archway welcomes me to Victor’s Village. Large two-story brick homes sit in two neat rows on either side of a cobblestone walkway, all abandoned except one. For the most part, this area was spared from the bombing raids in order to make a point to us and to Haymitch in particular. As I make my way towards Haymitch’s house I idly wonder why no other residents have moved into the empty homes. Why had I never thought to move Prim and I here? Had it been so ingrained in us that this area was restricted to only victors of the Hunger Games that we just hadn’t even considered the possibility? Maybe people feel like they haven’t earned the right to occupy them. I know I haven’t.

I pound on Haymitch’s door forgoing any semblance of manners. After a few moments and more loud thumping from my fist, Haymitch’s gruff and very inebriated form fills the doorway.

“Sweetheart!” he slurs excitedly, swaying somewhat. He reaches out and gives my braid a tug.

“Is Peeta here?” I ask, growing increasingly more irritated the longer I stand on the doorstep.

“Of course. Where else would he be? We were just having a drink in celebration of your pending nuptials. Young love is always a reason to celebrate. Come, have a drink with us!” 

He moves to the side allowing me to step over the threshold and into small entryway that opens up to the living room. There’s a grand staircase just beyond the front door, a kitchen just past that and a formal dining room to the right of the stairs. To the left I see Peeta sitting slumped slightly to the side in a high back chair in front of a large fireplace, a glass with dark amber liquid in his hands.

“Here to finish me off, Sweetheart?” he says evenly. He is clearly drunk, but his words come out crystal clear.

“You forgot your jacket.” I practically snarl, throwing the jacket into his lap. 

My fear, anxiety and confusion bubbling to the surface. I’m angry. Angry at him for making me think something terrible had happened to him when in reality he is safe and warm with Haymitch, wallowing in his self-pity. Angry that he has made me care about him at all. If I didn’t things would be so much easier. The thought of stepping on a train with Gale and leaving wouldn’t hurt quite as much. It wouldn’t leave me with a feeling of emptiness that I’d never find a way to fill. 

Even though I’m angry at him for his assumption of my acceptance to Gale’s offer and his show of self-pity, I don’t like to see him hurting. He’s already hurt enough. If I had been a smart girl and not so stupid and desperate, I would’ve never sign a lottery contract with him. I knew that in the end I would only cause him pain.

Haymitch touches my elbow and I jerk back reflexively. My hands are balled into fists and I’m shaking. A droplet of water drips from my chin. I look up expecting to see the source coming from above me only to realize that it’s coming from me. I’m crying. I spin on my heel and fly out the door not even bothering to close it behind me. I run all the way back to the bakery, tugging my bow and coat off of me and tossing them onto a pile on the bench just inside the back door. I pace the kitchen letting my footsteps work out the anger until there’s nothing left but sadness and exhaustion. Throwing a few more logs into the oven, I sink down against the brick and curl up on my side watching the glow cast ominous shadows against the kitchen walls. I remember Peeta telling me how he used to lay like this beside the fireplace when he was younger. It brings me comfort. It shouldn’t surprise me that I found him in front of a fireplace again tonight.

I must doze off because when the sound of the back door closing wakes me, the fire in the oven is nothing but smoldering ash. A chill has settled over the room. I follow the familiar thump of Peeta’s crutch as he makes his way down the short hall and turns to enter the kitchen. He eyes my huddled form on the floor for a moment, a sigh escaping between his lips.

“I wish I could scoop you up and put you back in bed,” he whispers, swaying slightly in the door frame. I can’t tell it’s from the alcohol or the obvious exhaustion that stains his features. 

“I think even with two legs that might have been a challenge. I’m denser than I look,” I offer lamely.

He chuckles, his bright eyes shining in the darkness. “I’m stronger than I look.”

I know. I remember the way his broad shoulders filled out the black rebel uniforms and the way he lifted the large sacks and boxes into cargo trucks with ease. I’m thankful that the darkness hides the blush I feel creeping up my neck and flaming across my cheeks. He doesn’t know I saw him back then or that I’ve kept tabs on him throughout the years.

We are quiet for a moment. I pick myself up off of the floor, tossing one more log into the oven and closing the door. Peeta remains in the doorway seemingly unsure of himself.

“Katniss,” he says softly as I cross in front of the table towards the bedrooms down the hall. The pain laced in that one word glues my feet to the floor. “I know that if you leave, you’ll be leaving for Prim. I understand that. The only reason you’re here now is because of her.” He takes a deep steadying breath before continuing. “If you go, there’s no life at all for me here. You’re my whole life. You always have been. I would never be happy again.”

My heart knocks erratically in my chest. I’m his whole life? I always have been? I don’t understand what that means. Maybe he has been watching me like I have him. Maybe he feels the same pull towards me as I do with him. I move closer to him, words poised on my lips to object, but he raises a finger stopping me.

“I know it won’t be easy for you, but there are other people who’d make your life worth living. They need you, Katniss.”

I know he’s talking about more than just Prim. He’s talking about Gale too, and I can see how Gale does need me, in the way that a bomb needs a detonator to explode. Is that what I need though?

He looks at me with those deep, blue eyes and there is no self-pity there now, only acceptance of something he seems to know would happen anyway. As if knowing my argument before I begin to make it, he starts talking again.

“No one really needs me.”

It’s true. His brother and his mother are long gone and most likely will never step foot in Twelve again. His father and oldest brother are dead. There’s Haymitch, but he doesn’t really need Peeta and with the bakery basically closed, the small population of the district doesn’t need him for food. I think of Peeta alone here with nothing and no one and the realization hits me like a lightning bolt. It’s me. I need him.

“I do,” I say. “I need you.”

“Katniss,” he says apprehensively. 

He opens his mouth to dispute me and I can’t allow that. He’ll talk about Prim, her future, the Capitol and Gale. It’ll only confuse me more. I can feel him trying to push me away, to let go of whatever notion he had conjured up about my life here with him. I can’t have that, so I stop him with a kiss.

Peeta stumbles, surprised by the force of my body as I slam into him. The crutch clatters to the floor. He grips the door frame for balance with one hand while the other finds my waist, pulling me closer to him. I don’t know what I’m doing and my inexperience shows in the fumbling way I try and smash my lips against his. Thankfully, Peeta takes the lead. The hand on my waist creeps up to my face, cradling it gently and slowing my frantic movements. He pulls back just enough so that his lips rest against mine when he speaks.

“I’m going to kiss you now, really kiss you. I want to carry this kiss with me to remind me of you after you’re gone.”

I release a shaky breath through my nose and nod. He turns us so that his back is pressed against the door frame freeing both of his hands. They work their way into my hair at the base of my skull. Peeta’s chest rises as he inhales deeply and then his lips meet mine again. There’s tenderness in his movements, but no awkwardness, no hesitancy. 

The kiss begins soft. I copy the movements of his mouth, parting my lips slightly when he does. The tip of his tongue caresses my bottom lip and I open my mouth wider letting his tongue meet with my own. My hands move to his chest and I clutch the fabric of his jacket tightly, pulling myself closer to him. His hands pull lightly at the hairs on the back of my head and in the midst of this kiss, I find I don’t mind the sting that his grip brings. Our tongues dance together, clumsily at first, but soon I melt into him not even caring that I’m barely able to breathe. The sound of a moan fills my ears and I’m not sure if it is from me or him. One of his hands skates down my side finding my hip, pulling me even closer. I can feel every part of him and it has the opposite effect of what I expect. I don’t feel embarrassment or shame. The contact, the kiss makes me want more of this. I thought I was something of an expert on hunger, but this is an entirely new kind. As we pull away from one another, foreheads pressed together, rapid breaths mingling, I realize he was right. This kiss will stay with me. Always. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The feedback on this story so far has been a little overwhelming. I've never gotten this much attention on any of my stories before. This chapter was harder for me to write than I thought it would be and I still don't know exactly how I feel about it. 
> 
> If you have a minute, let me know what you think! 
> 
> I hope to have Chapter 4 out to you by the end of next week.


	4. Chapter 4

I think I might throw up again.

After the kiss, Peeta led me to the bedroom, but he didn’t join me in the bed. He claimed he wasn’t tired. I tossed and turned under the weight of the blankets in a bed that felt too big and too empty. I woke up this morning to find Peeta slouched under the ovens, his chin against his chest and quiet snores escaping the small opening between his lips. He had said his goodbye to me in the door frame of the kitchen the night before and now he was pulling away, letting me go. 

I fled from the bakery as fast as my feet could carry me and retched the dinner from the night before in the woods. I climbed the first scalable tree and I’ve been perched high in the camouflage of its branches ever since. I’ll eventually need to come down. I know this. I can’t hide up here forever, but I need to think.

I’ve never wanted much for myself. For as long as I can remember, my thoughts have been consumed with my desire to help my family, to help Prim, to survive. I know I must have thought of other things as a little girl, but I can’t even fathom what they were at this point. I know Prim can’t recall a time before the war or before constantly being scared of dying. She doesn’t know a world in which I’m not there to protect her, to look out for her best interests, to keep her fed and safe. I know she is a fighter and that she can take care of herself, but for the longest time the brunt of the caregiving responsibilities has fallen on my shoulders. The mere idea of not doing something that would be best for Prim is so alien to me that I can’t even begin to picture it in my mind. 

I want so badly to be selfish though, just once. 

I allow myself to replay the kiss with Peeta. The way his lips felt, the pressure of his fingertips digging into my skin. The solid planes of his body pressed against mine. The way we fit so perfectly together. I can imagine a life with him. I can see us signing a marriage certificate, toasting bread over the flames of the bakery oven, smiling cheerfully to the customers filling the storefront, selling fresh fruit pies and warm, dense loaves at our booth during the Harvest Festival. I can picture laying down with him in our bed every night and kissing like we did in the doorway. A kiss that is only a start to something more.

I dream for a while longer. Then, I cry, mourning a life that I’ll never have. Wiping my eyes with the sleeve of my jacket and fighting to get my uneven breathing under control, I finally climb down from the tree. The sun is nearly to the midpoint in the sky. I’m running out of time. I walk with purpose as I cross back into town, keeping my head held high and hoping the trepidation I feel in every part of my body doesn’t show on my face. I pass by the road to the Seam, looking down the dirt path, knowing Gale is there waiting for me. There’s someone else I need to see first.

The stench of Haymitch’s house permeates the front steps and yard surrounding the property. If I hadn’t already lost the contents of my stomach in the woods, I could definitely throw up again. Pulling up the collar of my jacket, I try to bury my nose in its worn leather in order to mask the foulness. I bang my fist loudly against the door. I remember Peeta telling me that Haymitch was afraid to sleep at night and didn’t go to bed until the sun came up, often passed out drunk, so I knew I needed to be noisy if I stood any chance of waking him up. The dull thud of my fist echoes between the empty houses. A mockingjay flies overhead singing a three note tune that I recognize, and I raise my head to watch it not noticing the door flying open until my fist makes contact with Haymitch’s chest. 

He stumbles back, not at all prepared for the blow. “What the fuck!” He digs the palms of his hands into his eyes, squinting in the bright sunlight. “Sweetheart? Aren’t you supposed to be at the Justice Building starting your ‘happily ever after?’” 

I groan. I’m not in the mood for his condescension right now. “We need to talk. It’s about Peeta.” 

I push my way into his home not waiting for his invitation. I hear him chuckle under his breath as he shuts the front door. I make my way towards his kitchen stepping over empty liquor bottles and pieces of garbage. Haymitch trudges in behind me, swiping his arm across the kitchen table and sending the items piled there flying to the floor. He gestures for me to take a seat. As I sit, he moves to the other side of the kitchen producing a large knife and a loaf of bread. He joins me at the table, cutting a large piece of bread for himself and handing the knife to me. My stomach grumbles loudly and in spite of my nerves, I’m ravenous. Haymitch eats the bread, eyeing me carefully as he chews. 

“Well, I’m all ears. What do we need to talk about?” he asks around a mouthful. A few crumbs dust the scruff on his chin. 

The look in his eyes is disconcerting. I stare at the bread in my hands. “I’m worried about what happens to him after we’re gone.”

“If everything else he’s been through hasn’t killed him, then a little heartbreak isn’t going to do him in.” He stuffs the rest of the bread in his mouth, licks his fingers and sighs as he leans back in his seat. “You could stay, you know?”

I tear a small piece of bread from the slice in my hands just to give myself something else to focus on, but my bottom lip begins to tremble. I suck it in between my teeth hoping to hide it and release a deep breath. I know Haymitch saw. 

“I can’t. Prim deserves every opportunity I’m able to give her. I-I can’t be selfish when what I want will determine the course of her future. I would hate myself for it.”

Haymitch nods his head. His eyes move from me. They become unfocused like he is viewing a distant memory. He sighs and rises from the chair, pacing back and forth in front of the table for a moment before stopping to rest his back against the wall. His fingers scratch through his thinning hair and he focuses his stare back to me, pinning me to my chair with the look.

“There might be something I can do, but you’re not going to like it, and neither is the boy,” he says pointedly.

It didn’t matter if I liked it or not. It was out of my hands at this point. I can’t deny Prim the opportunity at her best possible life, so it was either marry Gale or play along with whatever scheme Haymitch has concocted. I nod at him to continue.

“You probably don’t know this, but the lottery isn’t exactly going as planned. Some people, especially those in the more affluent districts view it as not much more than another form of prostitution, another way for the Capitol to assert their influence over us.”

My eyes widen in shock. Until that moment, I hadn’t considered that view of the lottery. I’d seen it as merely a way to survive and a way to help increase the population of Twelve. 

Haymitch waves a hand dismissively in front of his face. “Look, I know the people running the government now. They’re good people, honest people. They aren’t looking to start up something like another Hunger Games. They genuinely believe in the lottery as a means to both help struggling citizens and keep us from going extinct.” He sighs looking a bit chagrin and I know he’s finally getting to the point. “They need someone to be the face of the lottery, someone to do a propaganda campaign aimed at showing the benefits of it. I know that there is history between you and the boy, he as much as told me so before our first battle together. He was so worried that if he was gone there would be no one left to watch over you. If he were willing to take the job, then it might be the solution to your problem.”

I drop the bread on the table, staring numbly at the crumbled pieces. “No, he won’t do it. He would have to leave the bakery. Saving it was the only reason he signed up for the lottery in the first place,” I say shaking my head. 

Haymitch sighs deeply. “If you asked him to do it, he would. Besides, the contract you signed is only for two years. The bakery will still be here when it expires. If he stays, it will take him years to be able to get it up and running anyway.”

“I don’t know, Haymitch. I can’t ask him to leave it behind, to leave home behind, for me.”

He plops back down in the chair and leans towards me with his forearms on the table. “Look, this propaganda thing won’t just be about him. It will be about the both of you together. The Capitol wants to show everyone that real relationships can come out of this and that the lottery can be about more than just the money and the need to increase the population. It can be about love too.”

My eyes go wide. Peeta and I aren’t in love. At least, I don’t think it’s love. Love is what I feel for my sister. It’s what I felt for my parents. What I feel about Peeta is something different. I don’t have a name for it yet. 

Haymitch’s hands come up in a placating gesture. “I’m not saying what you and the boy feel towards each other is love. I can tell that word doesn’t sit well with you. Hell, this whole conversation with you makes my stomach churn, but it’s obvious to anyone with eyes that you two care about each other in some capacity. That’s a start. It’s real and the Capitol wants to show people that the lottery can result in something that is real.”

I’m shaking my head again and I’ve completely destroyed the piece of bread Haymitch gave me. 

“Katniss,” Haymitch says, his voice soft. My head snaps up. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him address me by my name. “Talk to him. I think you’ll be surprised by what he says.”

* * *

I leave Victor’s Village with that feels like the weight of the world on my shoulders. Haymitch has left with me another option, but whatever I choose would mean a loss for either Gale or Peeta and I don’t want to hurt either of them. Truthfully, I know that Peeta will feel a loss either way. He told as much. He said that there would be no life for him if I left but walking away from the bakery would be heartbreaking for him as well. He loves the bakery like I love the woods. We both hold memories of our fathers in these places. 

I think of my father. What would he want me to choose? He would probably laugh lightheartedly at the fact that I was even pondering the choice to begin with because I know he would choose a life with the possibility of love. He did when he chose my mother, as she did when she decided to marry someone from the Seam. I’m sure at the time that must have seemed like such an impossible decision, but they did it anyway. Then, in the shadow of the Hunger Games, they decided to have children; another difficult choice done for a life with the possibility of even more love. I can almost hear him now, teasing me the way he used to when I would overthink something. He would pinch my side where I’m the most ticklish and tell me to stop thinking with my brain and ask my heart to decide. 

I keep walking without paying attention to where I’m going. My feet and my body seem to know the way before my mind can catch up. When I finally look up I’m standing on the dirt path outside the Hawthorne’s home. My heart thunders wildly against my ribs and I tuck my hands into the pockets of my jacket to hide their shaking. A flash of dark hair appears in the corner of the window by the door followed by the freckled face of Posy Hawthorne. She flashes me a grin, her two front teeth missing. Then, I hear her yell for Gale telling him that I’m outside. Gale’s form passes by the window, ruffling Posy’s hair and tickling her chin as he passes. Her giggling squeal rings through the empty street as Gale opens the door. 

“Catnip!” he exclaims rushing down the steps and bringing his hands to my face. “I was starting to worry. The Justice Building closes at four and no one knew where you were.”

I look into his eager eyes. They shine with giddiness and excitement. My mouth suddenly feels incredibly dry. I move my tongue around trying to work up enough saliva. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Rory and Hazelle have joined Posy in the window. I can’t breathe. I’m definitely going to throw up again.

“I was out in the woods,” I croak.

“I should have suspected as much,” he says with a shrug. “I know it’s so easy to lose track of time out there, but you’re here now.” His hands move from my face and he pulls one of my hands from my jacket pocket, gripping it firmly in his. “Ready to go?”

“Gale, wait…I – I,” I stutter unable to find the right words. Hazelle and Posy’s hopeful eyes stare at me through the sheer curtains. I meet Rory’s eyes and unlike the rest of the Hawthornes, Rory’s gaze is sad. I see pity in it. He gives me a halfhearted smile and then looks away. I steel my nerves for what I’m about to do. 

“I can’t go with you, Gale. I can’t marry you. I don’t want to,” I say pulling my hand from his.

He jerks back as if my words physically assault him. He stares at me for a moment, head tilting to the side in question, eyes hard. Then, all at once, the hardness disappears, and a look of understanding crosses his features. 

“Catnip,” he says tenderly, approaching me slowly like I might attack if he moves to fast. “It’s fine to be nervous. I’m nervous too, but you know as well as I do that this is the best thing for both of us. It’s what would’ve happened anyway. This has been our future for the last seven years.”

My eyes narrow and I take a step back from him, stumbling a little on the unevenness of the path. He stops at the border between the loose stone walkway to his house and the worn dirt of the path, his hand hangs awkwardly in the divide as he reaches to steady me. I shake my head and regain my footing, stepping further away from him. His hand falls against his thigh with a dull thud that clenches at my heart. I never wanted to do this to him, to hurt him in this way. He has been my best friend for years and I love him, but not in the way he is wanting me to. Color begins to flood his face. I don’t know if it’s from anger or embarrassment, possibly both.

“No. No, I never wanted that. I never wanted to marry. I’ve only ever wanted your friendship. I don’t want to lose that now, but I don’t feel the same way,” I say. My voice sounds cracked, shaky and strange in the quiet that surrounds us.

Gale growls in frustration, bending over and fisting his hands against his eyes. “What about Prim?” he snarls. “All I’ve ever heard from you since the day I met you was that you would do whatever it took to give Prim everything she needed. You don’t think she needs the chance to grow up outside of the squalor of this shithole district? I’ve see the country, Katniss, and there is so much more out there. So much more life to live! I can’t believe you would throw that away because you never saw yourself getting married. I can’t believe you would be that selfish.”

Now, I’m shaking. I stalk forward until I’m inches from his face. If he wants to fight, then we’ll fight, but he knows as well as anyone that I shoot to kill, and my aim is impeccable.

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” I seethe, rising on my toes to level myself with his face. “Don’t you dare talk to me about selfishness, Gale Hawthorne. You say this has always been our future, yet you decided to continue to play army leaving me and your family behind in pursuit of your own selfish desires. Then, when you learn that I’ve made a decision, that you don’t agree with, in order to give myself and Prim a chance at a better life, you come back here and have the nerve to call me selfish because I don’t want to _marry_ you. This,” I gesture to the tension and anger that hangs between us like a heavy curtain, “is the only future for us. We would only fight and hurt each other. That is not a life I want and it’s not a life that Prim should have to suffer through either.”

We step back from each other. My shoulders heave with rage. Gale turns in the direction of his house, taking a few steps before turning back on his heel. “So, this is it? You’re going to run back to the bakery and be Mellark’s whore? Pop out a couple of his babies for the good of the country? That’s the life you want Prim to see? What would your parents think about this, Katniss? Don’t you think they would’ve wanted us together? Do you think your father would be _proud of you_?”

I can’t stop myself. My body moves of its own volition and I don’t even realize what I’m doing until my palm makes contact with his face. His head turns from the force of the blow and an angry red welt instantly starts to form on his cheek. 

“Fuck you, Gale,” I say through gritted teeth. “My father would want me to follow my heart and do what was best for me That is not you. He would never want me to be with someone I don’t want to be with no matter if it meant Prim could be president of Panem herself.”

He scoffs, spitting bloody saliva onto the ground at his feet. His lip is split in the corner and bleeding into his mouth. I throw an apologetic glance toward the window only to find it empty. Gale turns his back on me, marching up the steps and through the front door, slamming it so hard the windows rattle. 

I’m still seething as I turn away and hurry down the path towards town. My hands are balled into fists at my sides. My shoulders are clenched defensively. I want to scream to release the anger. The longer I walk, the more I relax. The more I relax, the worse I feel. When I reach the main road, I have to stop. My breaths are coming so fast I’m doubled over. I squat to the ground with my forearms on my knees and let me head hang limply in my hands. The sobs come out of nowhere, racking my body so hard I fall to my hands and knees, curling in on myself right in the middle of the road.

I expected losing Gale would be hard, but I didn’t expect to react like this. I didn’t expect him to say such hateful things to me, to call me a whore, to throw my father in my face. It feels like a death, like a piece of my heart has been ripped out. I don’t want to marry him, I am more certain of that now than ever, but I still love him, and the anger and vitriol of his words sting deeply. I allow myself several minutes to mourn. Mercifully, no one comes along the road to witness my display which saves me from having to explain the outburst or come up with a lie. 

I take the long way back to the bakery. Walking just outside of the old fence line, I skim my fingers along the bark of the trees. The evergreens fill the forest with their year around color, but the deciduous trees with their brightly colored autumn leaves are my favorite. I can vividly remember walking in the woods behind my father silently collecting colorful leaves to show Prim. Her face would light up at the sight of them. Some leaves would be bigger than her entire head. It became a game we played whenever I went out in the woods with our father. I steal a bright yellow leaf from a tree as I pass. I wonder if Prim will remember the game?

When I enter through the bakery’s back door, I hear Prim chatting with Peeta over the sound of meat sizzling in a pan. I ease the door closed and stand in the hall to listen. I’m not trying to eavesdrop. I truly enjoy the sound of them together, the affection that is so obvious in their voices. Today their conversation sounds stilted and I know they are both avoiding the one topic they really want to talk about. Neither of them notices me enter the kitchen. Prim has her head bowed over the worn pages of a textbook and Peeta is at the sink washing up the dirtied baking dishes with his back to me. 

I sneak up behind Prim and dangle the yellow leaf in front of her eyes. She jumps and spins in her chair, a wide smiling spreading across her lips. She grabs the leaf from my hand and runs it lightly across my face, just like she used to do when she was a toddler. I stumble as her arms encircle my neck, the full weight of her pressed tightly against me. I wrap my arms around her waist, squeezing her gently.

“You remembered,” I breathe into her hair.

“Of course,” she whispers. “And, you brought a yellow one. My favorite color.”

I place a kiss to the crown of her head, lifting my eyes and meeting Peeta’s from across the room. A ghost of a smile plays on his lips that doesn’t reach his eyes. They are filled with only sadness. He shuffles a little on his crutch, blinking rapidly and clearing his throat.

“We weren’t sure when you’d be home or if you would be having dinner here or with the Hawthornes,” he says

“Rory and Posy weren’t at school today,” Prim adds, pulling out of my grasp. “The teacher said they were staying home to visit with their brother.”

I nod at Prim, but I can’t tear my eyes away from Peeta. “I didn’t go to the Justice Building. I – I couldn’t. I can’t marry Gale.”

“Katniss,” Peeta murmurs, pushing off of the sink and making his way around the table to where Prim and I stand. The sadness that occupied his face is gradually being replaced by a new expression. He looks hopeful.

“Have you told Gale?” Prim asks.

I nod again and suck in a breath as my heart tightens painfully at the memory of the conversation. “We had a fight. He’s very upset.”

“Are you okay?” Peeta asks. He reaches his hand towards me, but second guesses himself halfway through the motion, pulling the hand back and flexing his fingers at his side. 

“I don’t know. No. It’s a lot to process right now, but I will be with time,” I answer, glancing at his hand before turning my attention back to Prim.

“Does this mean we are staying in Twelve?” she questions, her voice an odd mix of hopefulness and disappointment.

“Well…I don’t know, Duck. Maybe. I talked with Haymitch and he made me an offer. Actually, the offer is more for Peeta, but it would require a commitment from all of us.”

Peeta’s posture changes and he leans against the table letting the crutch rest at his side. “The lottery campaign?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say nervously. “Did he talk to you about it already?”

“He mentioned something to me last night, but we were dru – not thinking straight.” His eyes fly to Prim who didn’t know that Peeta had gotten drunk the night before, although she probably suspected based on the pallor of his face today. “I wasn’t sure if he was serious. He can get things a little mixed up when he drinks.”

“He was serious,” I confirm.

Prim’s head bounces back and forth between Peeta and I with confusion. “What lottery campaign?” she asks.

I explain Haymitch’s proposal to the best of my ability. Peeta fills in the gaps of what he understands as well. Prim stands silent, absorbing all the information before a look of pure sadness contorts her features. She turns to Peeta and takes his hands in hers.

“I know that Katniss will say yes to this because it will mean a better life for me and I can’t stop her, but I can’t stand to think of you losing your bakery especially since the upstairs is nearly complete. The first night we had dinner together you said that you joined the lottery because you wanted to fight to hold on to the bakery for your brother and father. If you agree to do this, agree to go to the Capitol, it will mean walking away from this. I don’t want you to leave your home, Peeta.”

Peeta squeezes her hands, ducking his chin to catch her eyes as tears began to spill over her lashes. The look he gives her holds a softness that I feel deep within my being. When he speaks, his voice is gentle, but firm.

“You’re right, Prim. I joined the lottery because I wanted to save the bakery. It’s the only place that had ever felt like home to me. This building holds a lot of memories, both good and bad, and I will always cherish it because it is filled with things that remind me of my family. But, it’s just a building and it will be here when we return. If I’ve learned anything these past few weeks, it’s that home isn’t necessarily a place. If you surround yourself with people you care about, that can be home too. You and Katniss are beginning to feel just as much like home to me as this bakery does. So, if we go to the Capitol, as long as we’re together, I won’t be leaving my home. 

Prim smiled at him tearfully before crashing into him and wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. He hugged her back, flashing a shy smile at me. All at once, I see why the thought of marrying Gale felt so very wrong to me and why I had agonized over the decision. Peeta was right. In three short weeks, my idea of home had changed. When I thought of home in my mind, I no longer picture our tiny shack on the edge of the Seam. I now clearly see Prim and Peeta laughing and trying to outsmart each other over the chess board, or Prim licking chocolate frosting from a spatula, or Peeta sketching in the light of the ovens. Home is no longer a specific place for me. It is two very extraordinary people. Even though the day has been one of the emotionally hardest days I’ve had in a while, I know that in the end, the decision I made was the right choice.

* * *

The last two days have been whirlwind. Once Peeta and I agreed to be the faces of the lottery for the Capitol’s propaganda campaign, we’ve barely had time to think about our decision. When he isn’t in Victor’s Village using Haymitch’s telephone to speak with the people coordinating what we will be doing, where we will be staying and when we will be leaving, he’s working with Thom and his crew to ensure the bakery is repaired enough to hold up in our absence. I know he’s sad to leave. I am too. Although, if I’m being honest with myself, I’m also secretly a little excited. I’ve never been outside of Twelve and I’ve always wondered what lies beyond our borders. The only things I’ve seen to give me a clue of life outside of our district have been on Capitol television broadcasts and I haven’t even seen a television in years. Prim pivots between pure elation at the prospect of all the things she will get to experience and learn and absolute heartbreak at the thought of leaving Rory. 

Shortly after Gale returns to the Capitol, Rory stops by the bakery with a shy blush on his cheeks and a necklace in his hand. He proudly tells us that he saved what he could for it from some odd work that he had managed to occasionally find and bartered for the amount he couldn’t afford. The chain is a simple silver color with a small pendant attached in the shape of two connected hearts. Prim squeals in delight and flies into his arms. Rory blushes even harder when she presses a kiss directly on his lips after he clasps the chain around her neck. They promise to write each other, and Rory tells us that Gale has already agreed to let Rory stay with him for a few weeks over the summer. I don’t want to think about how awful and awkward that will be for me, but I know Prim will be over the moon to be able to see Rory again. 

We are boarding a train headed for the Capitol tomorrow. We have the belongings we are taking with us packed and the bakery shuttered and ready to sit empty while we are gone. After the insanity of the last few days, a calm has fallen over the bakery. If feels like I can breathe again. I like having a purpose. The last several years have been about sheer survival, living day to day with no end in sight and the only thing keeping me from losing it completely was Prim. Now, with Prim basically taken care of and a seemingly important job to do, I feel more settled than I have in forever, even though I am leaving the only place I’ve ever known. 

The fact that as the faces of the lottery, Peeta and I will be expected to not only try to conceive children, but to actually conceive them has not slipped my mind. I’m still nervous about that, but I keep pushing it to the back of my mind for now. I don’t know how Peeta feels about the knowledge that one way or another, we will definitely have children together. Things have been strange between us since the kiss we shared. There’s trepidation in the way we interact again. It’s almost like the first few days after we signed the contract. Maybe it’s because the deadline we set for ourselves looms only a couple days away. Maybe it’s the pressure to succeed now that we’ve signed up to be a part of this in front of what’s left of the nation. Either way, I often long to touch him, but I don’t know how to go about it without completely throwing myself at him and I’ve already embarrassed myself twice doing that. 

I find him in his usually evening spot, under the ovens with a sketchbook in his hand. The chairs for the kitchen table have been stacked on the tabletop, perishable ingredients have been donated and everything else has been stored away. It gives the kitchen an eerie, empty feeling. I have gotten so used to it being the center of the bakery, always full of items and signs of life. 

“Hopefully wherever they put us in the Capitol will have a fireplace,” I say, sliding down to sit beside him. “How else are we going to know how spend our evenings?”

He chuckles lightly. “I think they’re going to want us to be spending our evenings doing other things,” he adds softly.

His voice has that husky quality to it that I’ve only heard a few times before. It makes my heart speed up. We sit quietly beside each other for a moment. He clears his throat and I watch his thumb idly stroke the edges of the loose paper in his sketch book. I feel like my bow string right before I release an arrow; taut, live and ready to strike my target. I reach out slowly closing the distance between us with my fingers until my touch stills his thumb.

“Katniss,” he whispers. The sound a mix between a warning and a plea.

I don’t need any more prompting. I grip the sketchbook, toss it to the side and straddle his lap in one swift movement. He sucks in a shocked breath for half a second before his hands are in my hair and his lips are molded against mine. We are a frenzy of hands and lips, sighs and moans, and sometimes the clumsy bumping of teeth that makes us smile against each other’s lips and mumble hushed apologies. My body seems to understand what to do more than my mind does because I find myself grinding against the growing erection I can feel straining against the fabric of his pants without thought. He hisses through his teeth, leaning his forehead against mine, breathlessly panting for air now that our lips have parted. When my mind catches up to my body, I slow my movements, leaning more weight against him and being more deliberate in the angle and speed of my hips. We groan in unison at the contact. Raking my fingers through the back of his hair, I continue the grind of my hips against his. Fingers ghost down my spine. Peeta’s strong hands clutch my hips while his fingers dip into the waist band of my pants. His mouth finds my neck, trailing hot, wet, open mouth kisses from my chin to my collarbone. 

I’m on fire. Every part of me feels hot with need and want. My hips chase after something I don’t recognize; a tension coiled low in my belly and an ache that’s making my legs shake. Soft, low, throaty moans sound in harmony with my gasps. Peeta’s hands leave my hips and find their way under the hem of my shirt, moving up across my sides to the swell of my breasts. The contact is slightly ticklish, and I wiggle seeking out his lips again. I don’t stop his hands as they cup my breasts fully. When his thumbs brush across my stiff nipples, I lean into the contact realizing how amazing it feels in conjunction with the swaying of my hips.

It’s suddenly too hot and there is too much in the way of me reaching the end of this throbbing between my legs. I claw at the hem of Peeta’s shirt, working my hands underneath to the warm, smooth expanse of his back. I work my hands around to the front. His stomach clinches. I push the shirt up and he removes his hands from under my shirt, so I can lift his over his head. I stop the movement of my hips, leaning back to take in his bare chest. There’s a smattering of blonde hair across the middle. Darker hair extends from below his belly button and disappears into the waist band of his pants. There is a particularly nasty looking scar that trails from just below his armpit down his side close to his hip. I want to touch it, to put my lips on it and kiss away the memory of the pain I’m sure he felt when he received it. Instead, I run my fingers through the light hair on his chest, brushing my thumbs across his nipples in the same way he had done to me. He inhales harshly, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the oven’s brick. 

I don’t know what I expected the bare chest of a man to feel like, but I didn’t realize it would be so soft. I didn’t expect his skin to smell so good. I didn’t think I’d want to put my mouth on his body. I surprise myself when I lean over and flick my tongue across one of the nipples. He gasps and his hips buck beneath me, his palms flat on the floor for leverage. His eyes are still tightly closed. I’m curious what other noises I can get out of him. Splaying my hands on the brick by his head, I run my tongue through the light hair on his chest, up his neck and ending with an open mouth kiss to his jaw. His eyes open. He lifts his head off of the brick and frames my face with his hands. His eyes search mine, the pupils large, dark and needy. There’s a wetness growing in my panties that is becoming increasingly uncomfortable in the layers of clothes still between us. I lean my face towards his in an attempt to catch his lips with mine, but he pulls away.

“Katniss?” he asks, his voice low and his breathing shallow.

My blood has been replaced with molten lava and I’m so consumed with it that for a moment I’m angry that he won’t let our lips meet. Then, I understand. Even though this is something that is supposed to happen anyway, he’s asking permission. He’s trying to figure out how far this is going to go and where he needs to stop. He’s leaving that decision up to me. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. His thumb strokes my cheek tenderly. That very male part of him is hard, seeking to be released from its fabric constraints, and lining up with the juncture between my thighs in the most perfect way. I can’t think straight. I’ve never been filled with this much blinding desire for something in my life, not even when I was starving. However, the apprehension in his hooded gaze gives me pause enough to feel my own nervousness. 

“Have you ever done this before?” I ask. The nervousness making the question come out soft and shy.

He bites his lower lip and nods. A flash of regret sparks in his eyes. 

I exhale an unsteady breath. A strange pang of jealousy bolts through me. I don’t know what I expected him to say. It is blatantly obvious he has a least a bit more experience than I do based solely on the kiss we shared and even though I know it’s irrational, I can feel myself pulling away from him. As much as I mentally tell myself not to be hurt by it, the idea of him sharing a moment like this with someone else still stings. He can feel the moment I start to recoil. His fingers fall from my face, yet we don’t move from our position on the floor.

“I never thought I would have this, have you” he whispers. “If I would’ve known that I’d ever have gotten the chance to touch you,” his fingers glide down my side, “fall asleep with you in my arms or kiss your lips,” his thumb smooths over my bottom lip, “I wouldn’t have done it. I would’ve waited for you.” He sighs, letting his hands rest on my thighs. “I didn’t think you even knew my name and when I joined the army I was certain I was signing my own death certificate. I didn’t want to die without knowing what it was like to be that close to someone. But, everything was so dark for me then and even though I’ve been with someone before, it didn’t feel anything like it does when you simply _look_ at me. There are times when I’m in the same room with you, Katniss, and I forget to breathe. You. This. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

His words leave me speechless and any jealousy I felt melts away, but a bashfulness has crept up in its place. The heat and passion of the moment is gone. As I look at him, so open and vulnerable to me, the weight of his words settles around me. I’m all he’s ever wanted. I’m beginning to understand the things Haymitch has said and the way he joked about Peeta being lucky. My heart aches as I look at him and although I know I won’t openly admit it, there’s a large piece of that heart that belongs only to him. 

* * *

We’re startled awake by a loud banging on the back door.

“Peeta Mellark? Katniss Everdeen? Hello?” a shrill, heavily accented voice calls out.

I hide my groan of discontent in Peeta’s chest. Laughter rumbles through him even though I can tell by the lazy way his arm drapes across my waist that he is still half asleep. After his confession to me last night, we had made our way to bed, sharing a few more languid kisses as we wrapped around each other before sleep pulled us under. I am perfectly happy to continue to lay wrapped in the warmth of his arms with my face buried in the solidness of his chest for at least another hour, but it seems that show time for our new roles has already begun.

The pounding on the door becomes more urgent and somehow even louder. Peeta disentangles himself from me and heads out to answer whomever it is that is waiting for us. I sneak a peek at him from an opening in the blankets and smile. His hair lays haphazardly on his head with random curls sticking up or out completely. The pant leg of his missing limb drags on the ground while his other sports bare toes. His pajama bottoms sit dangerously low on his hips. His shirt rides up while he adjusts his crutch and I can just begin to see where the dark patch of hair on his stomach trails down to thicker curls beneath. The prominent V-shape of his hips like an arrow pointing at what is hidden now from view, but what I had felt last night. My cheeks burn at the memory and moisture begins to gather between my legs again. Cursing whoever it is that is knocking on the door, I pull the blanket over my head and bury myself with it completely. 

The bedroom door closes as Peeta exits, only to be opened again a few seconds later. I listen to the sound of nimble footsteps as they skitter across the floor, before a body springs onto the bed and under the covers. There’s just enough light seeping in to the makeshift cave from the openings our bodies create for me to see the excited grin on Prim’s face. 

“We’re going to the Capitol today,” she mumbles, pinching my side and causing me to jump. I scowl at her in response which only makes her smile wider. She moves from the curled-up position on her side to her knees, hunching over to ensure we stay entombed in the blanket. Her feet kick giddily, bumping against my leg. I can’t help the smile that starts to form on my lips. Her excitement is contagious. As quick as I can, I snatch one of her feet pulling it towards my chest and pinning it under my arm. She begins to beg, wriggling to get free from my grasp. She pleads playfully, and I feign letting her go before attacking the pinned foot, tickling it with my fingers making her squeal and scream in delight.

We wrestle each other both trying to tickle the other. Prim’s screams and laughter fill the air and I realize I’m laughing just as loudly along with her. The blanket ends up on the floor. There are tears leaking from my eyes when the bedroom door bursts open. We freeze. Prim is laying on her stomach with a pillow in her hand poised to swat at me. I’m straddling her back, facing her legs with her foot in my hands. In the doorway is a woman dressed almost entirely in pink, from her hair to the ridiculously tall heels on her shoes. The only other color peeking from her ensemble is a bit of white at the hem of her skirt and the cuff of her sleeves. She looks vaguely familiar to me, like someone I once saw long ago. She stands in the doorway with a look of shock and confusion. Peeta stands behind her looking sheepish, but with a smile he’s trying to tamper down. 

The woman clears her throat and regains her composure. “Good morning. My name is Effie Trinket,” she says. The thick, Capitol accent in her voice is even more pronounced now that it’s not being muffled by the back door. “I work for the Office of Population Management and I’m here to escort you to the Capitol. I’ll also be your liaison once we’ve arrive to help you with your duties and any questions you may have.”

Prim wriggles behind me and I move off of her. She scrambles off of the bed, smoothing down her hair and straightening her clothes. She reaches out to shake Effie Trinket’s hand. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Trinket. I’m Primrose Everdeen,” Prim says sweetly.

“Oh! Please call me Effie, dear. Now, that we’ve all been introduced, there’s no need for such formalities in private. I hope that we all will be able to become friends during our time together.” She smiles broadly at all three of us before clapping her hands together and pulling a small black device from a hidden pocket on the side of her skirt. “Now, the train will depart in one hour, so we need to get all of your belongings together and be out the door in about twenty-five minutes. But, first, Primrose, would you be a dear and give me a few minutes with Katniss and Peeta? We have a couple of details we need to discuss.”

Prim looks over her shoulder at me with eyebrows raised and nods at Effie. Once Prim has left, Effie closes the bedroom door and her face takes on a sterner countenance. She totters on her heels, taking a seat at the desk chair. She motions for Peeta and I to sit on the bed. Clasping her hands in her lap demurely, she eyes both of us and then starts to speak.

“Forgive my boldness, but situations like ours require us to speak freely. When I spoke with Haymitch and when you and I talked on the phone, Peeta, I was under the impression that this partnership had already been consummated. Is that the case?”

I look at Peeta who is turning a shade of crimson I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. We don’t even have to answer before Effie’s tsk of disapproval sounds. Peeta’s embarrassment is answer enough. 

“You two have been partnered for a month, correct?” she asks.

We nod.

She purses her lips and looks towards the floor, almost speaking to herself. “Okay. Okay, this is not a disaster. Haymitch had assured me that this would be the perfect partnership to showcase. The way he framed it, you two would be seen as a sort of star-crossed lovers. People whose circumstances forced the choice of using the lottery but, through random partnership developed true and lasting feelings for each other. The Capitol is under the assumption that this is a legitimate relationship.” She sighs and then nods her head affirmatively. “We have time. It takes two days to travel to the Capitol, so you two will be able to consummate by then and when we speak with the OPM director and the others in the program, we won’t be lying.”

Peeta and I share a look. We knew we were on a deadline, but we didn’t think our lack of complete intimacy would be so apparent.

“Do you think that’ll be a problem?” she questions.

We shake our heads.

“No, we will make sure that when we arrive at the Capitol we won’t be lying,” Peeta adds quietly.

“Good! Now, I’ll leave you two alone to get everything in order. We can all meet in the kitchen in fifteen minutes,” she says, the pleasant smile returning to her face.

She rises from the chair. The clack of her heels echo in the hall as she leaves the room. As soon as the door closes, I fall back on the bed with a groan. Peeta and I had made a lot of progress last night and then Effie Trinket arrived to effectively and completely kill any mood that had been building between us. Peeta’s forlorn expression tells me he feels the same way. Now, instead of natural instincts and mutual attraction pushing us together, all we feel is pressure.

“Star-crossed lovers?” I ask.

“Haymitch,” Peeta grumbles. “He told me he embellished our story a little bit in order to get the Capitol really sold on the idea of using us and allowing Prim to come. I didn’t know he had told them that.” He falls back on the bed beside me with a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, Katniss.”

I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry too, but not for the same reason that he is. I don’t regret the choice we made to go to the Capitol, but I’m not fond of the idea that we will be seen as two people madly in love when I can’t even put into words the feelings I have for Peeta. He’s already expressed to me how he feels but even he hasn’t used the word love. We’re going to have to play a role that I know I have no idea how to play and I’m worried my lack of experience and knowledge of how I feel will show through, ruining everything. I slip my fingers across the palm of Peeta’s hand intertwining them with his. He pulls our hands up to his mouth, placing a kiss to the back of mine silently saying what I’m already thinking and what we already agreed to on our first night at the bakery; we will get through this together.

Later as we board the train with Prim excitedly chatting to Effie ahead of us and polished silver doors sliding closed to the only home we’ve ever known behind us; his fingers stay interlocked with mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's about time we give that M rating a true test drive :)
> 
> I will try to get the next chapter up by the end of the week, but I am currently in graduate school and near the end of my current classes which means that finals are coming up. Hopefully, that won't delay the update.
> 
> Thank you again and I hope you're enjoying the story so far!


	5. Chapter 5

One of my earliest memories is about luxury. It seems so strange to me now because I’ve never known what others would think of as a luxury. Simple things are luxurious to me: a well-rounded meal, dipping my toes into the warm lake water, sitting on the steps at night to watch the stars without fear, and the sound of laughter. 

I remember the gleam of gold and the way the rays of sun tumbling through a nearby window made it shine. I remember the way those same rays bounced off the shimmering diamond attached to the gold. The inside held a hidden rainbow of colors. I couldn’t have been more than four years old at the time because in the memory Prim is still a baby. I remember the lace trim on the tiny bonnet pulled snugly over her head to keep the sun out of her eyes. 

We were visiting the mayor’s home, although I can’t recall the reason why, and everything about the massive house screamed opulence and decadence to my young eyes: dark mahogany wood banisters, shiny brass doorknobs, and marble tile floors. The home has always been such an odd sight to behold nestled within our poor district, but the one thing I remember the most was the diamond ring on the finger of the mayor’s wife. No one else in Twelve has ever had a ring like hers. I’ve seen simple gold bands from time to time. More often than not, there is a band made of a much cheaper metal or no band at all. 

As I take in the train car around me, all I can think of is that diamond ring. You can tell the items are worn and have not always been used with care, but everything still gleams and shimmers in the light. The extravagance is awe-inspiring. It’s enough to keep Prim, Peeta, and I hovering near the sliding doors of the train, unsure of what to do. I grip Peeta’s hand tightly. Effie beckons us forward and into what is obviously a dining car. There’s a large table with plush velvet-lined chairs. Delicate-looking dishware and cutlery are impeccably set at each seat. Against the far wall of the car is another table laden with food. There are meats and cheeses of every kind, cakes, muffins, cookies, and fruits I don’t even recognize. Pitchers are filled with juices, coffee, milk, and a warm dark liquid. Prim’s jaw hangs open. She turns to us in shock.

“Is this how all trains are? Where did all this food come from? I’ve never seen so much in one place before.” She looks at Effie for answers.

Effie waves her hand nonchalantly at the food as if this amount was a normal everyday occurrence for her. “President Paylor and the rest of the government wanted to ensure that we could offer nothing but the best for your trip. As for the food, well that comes from all of the districts, dear. The Capitol was able to supply the train quite well considering.” Effie takes her seat at the table, taking the cloth napkin from the stack of plates in front of her, and daintily places it on her lap. She glances at the food-covered table wistfully. “Oh, but you should have seen what this car used to look like when it was used during the Hunger Games. There would be foods of every shape and size on every surface. It was a sight to behold.”

“They always wanted to impress the kids as they sent them to the slaughter, didn’t they? They liked to make them feel special and chosen before they forced them to fight to the death,” a familiar, scathing voice adds, appearing from behind a door on the far side of the car.

“Haymitch?” Peeta asks shocked.

“Don’t look so surprised, boy. Paylor has been on my ass to pay the Capitol a visit for close to a year now and I thought, why not hitch a ride with you,” Haymitch shrugs, the drink in his hand sloshes over the side of the glass as the train jolts forward. He weaves his way around us and takes a seat at the table opposite Effie. “Effie and I have ridden this train loads of times, haven’t we Eff? It’s nice to know we aren’t sending teenagers to their death this time though, isn’t it? Or, at least we don’t think we are.” 

He tips his drink back, laughing into the glass at his own joke. Effie huffs and rolls her eyes at him. She motions for us to sit and we take our places at the table. As soon as we are seated, attendants appear from behind the same door Haymitch entered from and begin moving the platters of food and pitchers of drink to the dining table. I sit back stiffly with wide eyes, taking in the scene around me. We’ve only been away from home for a handful of minutes, yet it feels like we have entered an entirely different world. 

Once the food has been served, the attendants disappear back behind the same door. I look around the table unsure of what I do next. Can I just take whatever I want? Are there rules or limits? Do we need to make sure we save some for the people who work on the train? Do we need to try and make sure we eat all of this? That can’t possibly be something anyone expects. There’s enough food here to feed at least twenty people.

Haymitch begins filling his plate with gusto, piling it high with various meats and pastries then adding orange juice to his glass of liquor. Effie grabs a slice of toast, a few pieces of meat, some fruit and fills her cup with steaming coffee. Prim, Peeta, and I are the only ones left with empty plates. 

“Oh, it’s been so long since I’ve done a trip like this that I’ve forgotten what this is like,” Effie says, casting a glance at Haymitch. “Please help yourselves to whatever you would like, but I would try not to overdo it,” she looks at Haymitch’s overflowing plate, “or, you will regret it later.”

Haymitch grunts and ignores her comment, shoveling a large bite into his mouth out of spite. Prim is the first to begin adding food to her plate. Her hands hover over the food as she tries to decide. No one has ever given us these many options before. In the end, she chooses things she is familiar with: pancakes, sausage, and strawberries. Peeta leans close to her and whispers in her ear and her lips explode into a brilliant smile. She grabs the pitcher with the dark liquid and fills her cup, adding a dollop of cream to the top. She looks at Peeta and he nods and winks. He sees me watching the exchange and leans close to me.

“It’s liquid chocolate and milk. I’ve only had it once for a birthday when I was young, but it’s delicious,” he says as he puts the pitcher in front of me. I pour the chocolate into my cup and then fill my plate with food. I decide to do the opposite of Prim and try things I’ve never had and probably won’t be able to taste again. Everything is delicious. The only sounds within the dining car are the scraping of silverware on dishes and the quiet hums of satisfaction. Peeta has chosen several different pastries and I watch as he thoughtfully chews each one and then picks them apart in an almost scientific way. He catches me watching and blushes.

“They’re delicious, but some of them taste so different to anything I’ve ever had or baked. I’m just trying to figure them out,” he says with a small laugh. 

“Some of those are made with ingredients that are local to specific districts. That may be why they taste different,” Effie announces. 

Peeta nods as if that is the answer to whatever question has been puzzling him. When the meal is finished, and my stomach is fuller than I think it has ever been, the attendants sweep back into the room to remove the remaining food and dirtied dishes. We all relax into our chairs, content to stay at the table for a bit longer. 

“It feels odd to be waited on,” Prim says softly.

“Don’t worry about that,” Effie says with a slight air of superiority. “It’s their job to look after the people traveling on the train and they are compensated well. It didn’t always use to be that way.”

Prim shakes her head sadly, then turns her attention to Haymitch and Peeta. “Did you have people to wait on you when you were on the trains for the army?”

Peeta chuckles under his breath. “This is the first time I’ve ever been on a train. I only traveled with the cargo trucks or by foot with the army. I’ve never really been but a mile or two outside of the borders of Twelve,” he confesses.

My eyebrows fly up at that information. I had assumed he had seen at least some of the other districts during his time fighting with the rebellion. 

“The boy may not have left the district, but he did a damn fine job of protecting its borders with Three, Eight, and Thirteen,” Haymitch adds with a decisive nod. 

Effie sighs and stands, clapping her hands brightly. “That’s enough war talk for now. No one wants to dwell on those awful events. Why don’t you let me show you to your rooms and then you are free to roam the train.”

Prim practically leaps from the table and follows closely behind Effie as she leads us down the hall. Peeta and I follow too, but they begin to pull ahead of us. The tight corridors and motion of the train make it hard for Peeta to navigate with his crutch. I can see him growing frustrated that he isn’t able to keep up. I lean close to whisper in his ear. He shivers faintly at the contact. 

“I once read in one of Prim’s books about these people called pirates. They sailed the ocean on huge ships and would sometimes battle with other ships trying to rob them or trying to get away from people looking to capture them. A lot of them, at least in Prim’s books, only had one leg. They would use a wooden peg on the missing leg to walk around. Can you imagine how they managed that on a ship? I can barely keep upright on this damn train and I have two legs.”

A snort of laughter escapes him, and I’m gifted with a smile. We make our way down the long hall passing by several different open areas with couches and televisions or bookshelves. Peeta’s face grows more pensive as we continue, and I catch him giving me sideways glances until he finally speaks.

“I could get a leg,” he says so quietly I almost don’t hear him over the constant low hum of the train. My eyebrows pinch together in confusion, but he continues. “Before we left, when I was speaking with people about our arrival, they offered one to me. A mechanical one that would fit permanently to my leg. Apparently, they still have the technology and some prosthetics available. An older victor of the Hunger Games designed them to be used for other victors if they lost limbs during the games.” He shrugs and diverts his eyes back to the walkway in front of us. 

“Would you want a leg?” I ask.

He stops and turns to me, his shoulders sagging a bit as he leans against the wall. “I never thought I would get the chance to have something like that. It would be nice to be able to walk without my crutch and to maybe run a bit again one day. It would also be nice to be…” he shakes his head ridding himself of whatever thought was there. “Never mind. It would just be nice to feel a little like a whole person again.”

Effie and Prim have stopped near the end of the train car. I can see Effie talking animatedly and then Prim jumps and squeals with delight, looking down the corridor and waving her hand for us to come to see. We catch up to them and I finally get a look at what caused the excitement. Prim’s room is beautiful with a large bed covered in soft, cream-colored bedding, a vanity, a couch, and a private bathroom. She is standing next to an open closet that is packed full of brand new clothes. She looks at me with her mouth agape. 

“Effie, this wasn’t necessary. It’s too much. We could never repay the Capitol for this generosity,” I say, shocked. 

Effie waves a hand through the air dismissively. “You and Peeta are our stars now and you’ll receive the star treatment. Nothing but the best for our newest celebrities.” She leans into me conspiratorially. “Truthfully, the people of the Capitol are thrilled to have someone to fawn over again. We haven’t had a celebrity to cheer for since Finnick retired from the spotlight several years ago. Besides, if you think this room is too much, wait until you see yours.”

Effie heads back down the hall again. We follow, but I don’t miss the look on Peeta’s face as we exit Prim’s room. He looks just as uneasy as I feel. I knew we were going to spokespeople and, as such, we needed to prepare ourselves for a bit more attention to our lives and our relationship, but I don’t think that either of us excepted that we would become instant celebrities or that the people in the Capitol would be excited to see us. I push down a sudden ball of anxiety that seems to have nestled in the pit of my stomach and meet Effie at the last door in the corridor of this train car. It’s open for us to enter and as I step through the threshold, I can’t hold in my gasp.

The room is at least four times the size of Prim’s. It must take up most of this particular train car. The far wall of the room is nothing but a giant window that extends from the floor and curves into the ceiling allowing anyone lying in the bed to look up and see the sky during the day or the stars at night. The bed is enormous. It can easily fit six people. There are two large closets fully stocked with clothes for both Peeta and me. There’s a bureau full of underclothes and pajamas. Next to the bureau is a large couch with a tufted ottoman in front of it and a television mounted to the wall across from it. A door next to the couch stands slightly ajar and I wander towards it to find a bathroom larger than any other I’ve ever been in. There are two sinks with a vanity in between and a separate smaller room with a toilet. A long, plush bench sits against a wall with stacks of fluffy, folded towels on a rack above it. Two thick, cozy-looking robes hang on hooks outside the door to an immense tiled shower. I pull back the shower door to find there are four different shower heads on the wall and a panel with different settings and scents. A smooth, tiled bench has been built into the wall of the shower allowing the person using it to sit comfortably. 

I back out of the shower carefully, completely overwhelmed by the vastness of everything in the room, and bump into Peeta’s chest. His face is a mixture of wonderment and confusion like he can’t quite comprehend the space around him. It brings out his boyish features and reminds me of the way children look when they are given a new toy or on the first clean snowfall of the year. I squeeze his fingers gently as I pass and we both walk back out into the main bedroom area to find Effie by the door with a smirk of satisfaction on her face. 

“Isn’t it spectacular?” she asks, punctuating each syllable by swishing her wrist to each corner of the room. “This train was used during the Victory Tours for the victors of the games, so it is simply the best we have, and I told OPM that only the best will do for our two lovebirds. Speaking of which…I should probably leave you two alone to get more acquainted with your room. You have the back of this car completely to yourself, so you don’t have to worry about any interruptions. Although it doesn’t seem private, you can only see out of the glass, not in. Dinner will be served in the dining car at 6 PM.”

She wobbles out of the door with a wink and a giggle. The electronically guided door slides closed separating us from the rest of the occupants on the train and all at once a nervousness settles into my bones. I’m sure the grandeur and enormity of the room were meant to make us feel special and allow us to feel closer to each other, but, I only feel the opposite effect. The distance between us feels like a canyon. It makes me miss home. I miss the wood smoke smell that clung to the air from the constant burning of the kitchen ovens and the way the waning light in the evening cocooned us in its own kind of privacy. I miss the rough spun feel of the sheets on the bed and the small tin bathtub that seemed so large to me only a day ago. 

I hug my arms around myself and turn to find Peeta perched on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. I sit across from him on the ottoman, my knee bouncing anxiously. I know what we are supposed to be doing and what needs to be done before we arrive in the Capitol. I know it’s what everyone already thinks is going on in this room right now anyway. My hand wraps around the end of my braid pulling it apprehensively as I try and relax my body and prepare my mind for what needs to happen next. I’m wavering between whether I should just start taking off my clothes right away or if I should go in for another kiss and straddle his lap like I did the night before when Peeta looks up at me with a wave of fiery anger burning in his eyes that stops me cold. 

“Peeta,” I start gently. I’ve never dealt with his anger before and I’m not sure how to approach it.

He runs his hand through his hair, blowing out a breath before tossing his crutch to the ground. “Look at this room, and this bed and the mountain of food and this whole fucking train!” he says contemptuously. “We are going to be the newest show that everyone will want to watch. Nothing we do will be private. They will want all the sordid details. Our lives will never be our own. That’s the price we will have to pay for all of this.” He shakes his head and looks at me again. The anger in his eyes slowly fading into pain. “I was so happy, Katniss. When you came in and told me that you couldn’t marry Gale…I’ve never felt that happy before. Part of me couldn’t believe that you chose me. I would have signed up for anything at that point in order to keep you, but this isn’t – .” He chews his bottom lip as it starts to quiver. “I don’t want all of this to scare you away, but I also don’t want it to push you into doing or saying things with me that aren’t real. They are going to want a love story. They won’t take no for an answer about that. I know you’ll play along for Prim’s sake and that you are doing it all for Prim, but that only makes me feel like I’m taking advantage of you. I know there’s so much pressure on us now and believe me, I want you. I want you more than I’ve wanted anything. I – I just wish it could be real.”

I’m not sure what to say. I wish it could be real too. I wish that I hadn’t needed to join the lottery. I wish I could’ve fallen in love and gone through the stages of a relationship to get to where we are. I wish a war hadn’t happened and that neither of us knew what it looked like when life drained from another human’s eyes. I wish my parents were alive. I wish the thought of falling in love didn’t send me into a blind panic. I wish I could give him what he wanted, but I just don’t know if that will ever be possible. Right now, the only thing I can do is show him that I did choose him and not only because of Prim but because the thought of leaving him behind almost tore me apart. 

Silently, I cross the room and join him on the bed. Taking his hand in mine, I mirror his actions from earlier in the day and bring the back of his hand to my lips. His breath comes out in a stutter. He turns to look at me. I’ve heard others say that some people wear their hearts on their sleeves, but Peeta carries all of his emotions in his eyes. They are a deep, blue well of everything he is thinking and feeling. I can see with clarity just how much I mean to him and it makes me wonder if somehow, we would’ve ended up at this moment together anyway. Maybe I would’ve finally gotten the courage to thank him for the bread. Maybe I could’ve eventually found more work in town, possibly even at his bakery, and that would’ve led us down a path to where we are; at the precipice of a whole new level of understanding and knowing someone and of realizing that life isn’t the same without the other person in it. 

With that knowledge, the pressure I felt just minutes before seems to disappear. I brush the wayward curls from his forehead and lean into him. He moves to meet me halfway. Our lips brush. The kisses are tentative at first, but then something shifts. Like the night before, on the kitchen floor, all the worry, shyness, and indecision drift from my mind. The enormous room and bed become smaller and the only thing I’m focused on is him. His arms wrap tightly around my middle as we both fall back on the bed.

He moves against me hungrily, but timid. Like the night before, he is leaving the pace and destination of this up to me. I allow myself to get lost in his kiss, the movement of his lips, the velvety feel of his tongue, the grip of his fingers: cautious but wanting. Like me, there’s a slight shake trembling through him. He’s done this before yet he’s still nervous. He’s never done this with me. This is new to him too.

That realization makes me bold and the intoxicating feel and smell of him make me greedy. I hitch my leg up over his hip searching for the pressure and friction I had found there before. His hands travel down my back, cupping me from behind and pulling me closer. The sigh of satisfaction that leaves me is unlike any sound I’ve ever made before. The edges of Peeta’s lips quirk up against mine. He grinds against me, testing my reaction and capturing my groan of approval with his mouth. 

In a quick move that surprises me, he spins us around so that his body covers mine. Using his forearms and knee to support himself, he pulls away and meets my eyes. His lips are swollen and wet. His skin is flushed, and the blue of his eyes has almost been swallowed up by his pupils. The desire in them is unmistakable. I spread my legs wider allowing him to sink into the space I’ve created. The space between our hips no longer exists and the weight of him on top of me is dizzying. I pull him down, crushing my lips to his and I need more of him, more of this, more of everything. 

“What do you like, Katniss? Don’t be afraid to tell me. Do you like it when I do this?” he breathes against my skin, trailing wet kisses down my throat and moving his hips against my center. 

I can’t think. I can’t form words. All of my senses are surrounded by him. I nod my head, arching into his mouth when his kisses caress my collarbone. I claw at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin, and with his help remove the shirt, tossing it somewhere in the limitlessness of the room. I move my mouth to his neck, planting kisses there and on his shoulders and chest. His eyes screw shut as he whimpers, his hips still moving against me in a way that has me seeing stars, but that still isn’t enough. 

My hands skim his back and land on the waistband of his pants. Even I’m surprised by my nerve when my fingers find the button on the front. He sucks in a breath and he stills my hand. 

“Wait. Please. I want to see you.”

His words are accentuated by his panting breaths. He lifts his weight from me, curling his leg so he can kneel between mine. In our clamor to get closer to one another, my shirt has risen up exposing my stomach to him. He inches his fingers under the hem, skimming the underside of my breasts and lifting the shirt from my body. I sit up to meet him and reach behind my back to unhook my bra, my shaky hands making the task harder than it should. 

“Let me,” he murmurs as he reaches for the straps, sliding them slowly down my arms until my chest is bare to him. 

He drinks me in. His face a mural of astonishment and disbelief. I’ve never been this naked in front of anyone, except Prim and even then, I wasn’t completely comfortable with it. I fight the desire for modesty that sits under the surface of other flaming desires burning within me. Any thought of modesty is wiped clean from my mind when he places his hands on me and then his mouth. When he pulls one of my peaked tips into his mouth, lavishing it with the flat of his tongue, his name escapes my lips like a prayer.

He feasts on me until I’m pleading for something that I can’t name. The throbbing between my thighs has become an almost unbearable ache and I can feel how wet I am. Embarrassingly, so. When his mouth traverses my stomach, stopping at the waist of pants, the self-consciousness about what he will find and how he will react almost eclipses the need to feel him without the barrier between us. His fingers pop the button and lower the zipper. My heartbeat thunders in my ears. He moves back up my body bringing his lips to meet mine again. The sensation of our bare chests moving together as our tongues pull pleas for each other makes my head spin. I’m drunk on him.

“Touch me, Peeta. Please,” I beg.

His hand sweeps into the border of my panties, his fingers gliding through the wetness beneath and finding the spot I’ve been trying to reach with my hips against his. As he swirls his fingers in a gentle, circular motion, I nearly fly off the bed, releasing his mouth and moaning into his shoulder. He groans. His warm breath fanning my cheek. 

“Oh my god. You’re so wet. Have you ever touched yourself before?” he whispers.

I shake my head, still burying my face against his shoulder, and whimper. He begins to move his fingers faster adding a bit more pressure until I’m crying out, not caring who may overhear. It feels like a spring wound tightly low in my stomach and if he keeps going I might burst into a million pieces. My hips undulated under his fingers and I can feel him, hard and straining against the fabric of his bottoms as he grinds into my hip.

“Yes, Katniss. Let go. Come for me,” he pleads, sweat forming under my fingertips on his back.

Suddenly, the ache and pressure build to a crescendo and I come undone in his arms, shouting his name, my knees clamping together as tremors wrack through me. The movements of his fingers slow before stopping altogether. He removes his hand and rests his forehead against mine before placing a soft kiss against my lips. I can still feel him against my hip and even though he makes no move to do anything other than allow me to come down from the height he took me to, I have an overpowering desire to have him inside me. I need to know what that feels like. I need the closeness of him. 

I run my fingers through his hair and around to the back of his neck. The look of adoration in his eyes steals my breath. I move beneath him until I’ve captured him between my thighs, letting out a satisfied groan as the full weight of him settles over me again. My heart still pounds against my ribs as I lower my hands to the button of his pants. This time he doesn’t stop me but kisses me deeply. My trembling fingers work the button free and then inch beneath the waistband, pushing the fabric of the pants and underwear down his hips. He releases my mouth, pushing himself up to help remove the garments until he springs free from the restraints. After the candor of his words as he made me fall apart, an unexpected bashfulness creeps across his features. My eyes flit over his body. Because of my mother’s vocation, I have seen naked men a time or two, so I’m not completely ignorant of the male form. But, they had been injured or ill. Never like this.

He is thick and hard. I thought being in this moment with him, both exposed and vulnerable, would frighten me, but the opposite happens. Seeing him sends a nervous thrill through me. I watch the way his eyes flicker to the scarred flesh and emptiness of where his leg used to be. He tries to angle himself in a way that makes it less visible. My chest constricts. That he could think of himself in any way but beautiful is absurd. He truly is like sunshine itself. 

I pull him down to me, planting kisses across his chest and along the scar on his side. My legs cradle his thighs. His blue eyes find my grey, seeking permission. Words escape me and seem not enough for the magnitude of the moment. I glide my fingers down his cheek and lean up to his lips in a desperate, searing kiss, giving him the answer he seeks. He positions himself at my entrance. My unsteady fingers dig into the taut muscles of his back in anticipation. He quivers above me.

“I’ll go slow. I – I don’t want to hurt you,” he says with a shuddering exhalation. 

I nod. He begins to push into me, and oh my…

My eyes roll back in my head and a guttural whine leaves my throat. The fullness of him and the pressure as he stretches me is an intensity I didn’t foresee. I suck in a breath and he holds completely still giving my body time to adjust. The muscles in his back flex with his effort not to hurt me. His breaths are shallow, but his eyes remain open, watching my face and gauging my discomfort. Slowly, I rock my hips forward taking more of him in. His forehead drops to my chest.

“Fuck. This is…I…you feel so good,” he mumbles against my skin.

I grab his face bringing it back up, so I can see it. He must see the pain in my eyes because this hurts more than I thought it would and it feels like every muscle in my body is tense in anticipation of the pain. 

“You feel so tense and tight around me. Do you want me to stop?” he asks shakily. The effort of restraint clear in his voice.

I shake my head. “No. Just go…slow.”

He leans down until his lips brush my ear. “Breathe, Katniss. Just breathe with me.”

He inhales deeply, and I mimic him, mentally willing my body to relax, piece by piece. He must feel the change because he inches into me slowly. I keep breathing, reminding myself to relax. He moves a little further in me then stops. He raises his head, capturing my mouth in a kiss so powerful it wipes any fear or apprehension from my mind. Then, with a forceful snap of his hips, he buries himself within me fully. I gasp against his mouth as a burning sensation rips through me.

“Oh my god,” he groans, his mouth slipping from mine. His head falls against my shoulder and my nails dig into his biceps. He starts moving again. Slow, shallow thrusts. The burn is still there, but as he continues to move it lessens until it is replaced with something else, a different kind of fire. I move against him, experimentally, chasing the feeling that seems just out of my reach. Our bodies collide and what was once pain transforms into a pleasure I never knew existed. It feels so impossibly good. My hands slip to Peeta’s lower back trying to pull him even deeper. 

A low, animalistic sound rumbles through him. A sound I’ve never heard before but want to hear again and again. “Katniss…I can’t…I’m going to…”

Remembering the words he said to me, I pull him close and whisper in his ear. “Come for me, Peeta. Let go.”

His breathing grows shallower and his movement more erratic and uneven, pressing me deep into the plushness of the mattress. The feeling as he swells inside me is incredible. I push my head into the mattress, arching my hips to meet his. A few more irregular thrusts and he stills on top of me. I can feel him pulsing against my walls until he relaxes, his weight like a blanket over my body. 

His face is buried in the crook of my neck. I stroke my hands through his hair and along the smooth lines of his back. His breaths become more even, as do mine. I open my eyes and look up at a sky in the colorful embrace of impending nightfall. How long have we been in here? 

“Peeta, look at the sky,” I murmur, and he lifts his head. “It’s your orange.”

He disentangles his body from mine, pulling out of me and leaving me with a strange feeling of emptiness. I want him back there. I miss it already. Is this what happens to other people? Is that what the looks and blushes I’ve seen in the past have been about? My thoughts are pulled up short when he smiles. It is the most magnificent smile. His eyes scan the sky as he watches the slow blending of colors. 

“I used to think I would never love seeing anything more than the way the sky burns as the sun sets, but I think I have a new favorite sight.” His eyes crinkle at the corners and his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip playfully as he grins at me. 

I backhand his shoulder lightly and then curl against his side with my head on his chest. A contented sigh vibrates through him as he draws lazy circles on my back. We watch the sky move above us. It’s strange how this moment seemed almost impossible just a few days ago when I climbed high in a tree and let myself mourn the loss of him. It’s also remarkable how at ease I feel laying naked in his arms. I expected to feel self-conscious, but that isn’t the case at all. When he looks at me, he sees me for the wild thing that I am and finds only beauty in it. I have been nothing more than a tomboy my whole life. I’ve never once felt girlish or womanly, but the way he touches me, holds me, and makes me feel things I never thought possible, I do. 

A soft knock at the door causes us to spring apart from each other like we’ve been caught doing something we weren’t supposed to be doing. I stumble off the bed, throwing on the clothes that have been tossed to the floor as Peeta chuckles quietly in the background. I throw a glare at him over my shoulder, but I can’t find it in myself to be angry. He’s sitting up in the bed with the sheets pooled around his waist. His hair is a tousled mess. The broad expanse of his shoulders and chest shake as he stifles his laugh behind his hand. He is gorgeous. I want to scream at whoever is knocking on the door to go away, rip off my clothes and watch him fall apart in my arms again. 

I crack the door open just enough to stick my face out and am greeted by a train attendant who is having a very hard time meeting my eyes. My cheeks flare. I don’t know how long the attendant has been outside the door, but I know she heard enough to know what was going on in here.

“Ms. Trinket sent me to tell you that dinner will be served soon,” she says shyly.

“Yes, okay. We will be right there,” I say a little too loudly and forcibly. I wince and the attendant cracks a smile. I can hear Peeta’s barely controlled laughter pick up behind me. 

The attendant nods her head and scurries down the corridor. I shut the door and turn fully intent on hitting Peeta with my very best scowl, but I can’t quite seem to do it. I lean against the door and join Peeta, laughing and smiling until my stomach aches and my cheeks hurt.

* * *

Dinner went by uneventfully. Other than a couple knowing looks from Haymitch and a satisfied smug look from Effie, no one mentioned anything about the lottery or what they were sure took place in our room. Prim seemed oblivious and kept the table laughing about her misadventure with the shower in her room. I tried my best to pay attention and laugh at the right moments, but Peeta’s leg kept brushing against mine under the table. His wandering fingers would graze mine as he picked up his fork or spoon. It took everything I had to keep my eyes off his mouth as he took a bite of food or to stop watching the way the muscles in his arms flexed as he laughed. I couldn’t stop replaying the way that mouth felt on my body or the feel of those arms under my hands. By the time dinner was over I could barely sit still.

When Prim tells Peeta that she found a room filled with various board games that houses an elegant chessboard and he agrees to go play a match with her, I could shoot literal daggers from my eyes. Peeta and Prim leave seemingly unaware of the looks I’m giving them, but Haymitch snorts into his drink.

“Everything alright, Sweetheart? You’ve been looking at that boy like you’re dying of thirst and he is the only drink of water for miles.”

I scowl at him which only makes him laugh harder. 

“Come to think of it, the boy looked like he was starving. I wonder how he worked up such an appetite?”

He throws back the remainder of his drink and dodges the cloth napkin I send sailing in his direction. He leaves the room still chuckling to himself and saying something about needing a refill of whatever he is drinking. Effie must sense that I’m in no mood to talk because she exits quietly complaining of a headache and a need to lay down. Once I’m left on my own, my annoyance fades quickly. I pick myself up from my chair and head back through the narrow corridors to the room Peeta and I share. I know I’m being ridiculous. Has being intimate with Peeta turned me into one of the lovesick characters in Prim’s novels that I used to roll my eyes at?

I enter the room and head straight to the shower. After Prim’s lengthy explanation of her experience, I find the shower easier to operate than I thought. I let the spray beat down on me, closing my eyes and pretending I’m standing in a warm summer downpour. My fingers skim my body which feels unchanged and so different at the same time. An ache has settled between my legs reminding me of what we’ve done. I want to hate it, but I can’t. Secretly, I relish the sensation and the knowledge that Peeta caused it. 

I try to imagine what it would’ve been like with Gale. I know that he has feelings for me and that he believes he is in love with me. I’m sure he would’ve tried to make the experience good, but when I try to conjure up the intense heat and longing that happens when I kiss Peeta, I can’t. I would’ve done what I had to do with whoever I was partnered with in the lottery or even with Gale if I had agreed to marry him, but I know it wouldn’t have been the same. 

I step out of the water and dry off quickly, winding my damp hair into a single braid down my back. I grab a robe and search the bureau for clean underwear and pajamas only to find frilly, lacey garments that I have never seen before. I rifle through the drawer and find what looks like the most sensible pair of panties: a small swath of satiny fabric that covers nearly everything but leaves the lower part of my bottom partially exposed. The pajamas are another story. There isn’t anything sensible, or even remotely comfortable, about any of the options. I open Peeta’s drawer to find cotton shirts and linen or silk drawstring pants. Stealing one of the shirts, I throw it over my head and leave the robe folded on the couch. The shirt is big, hanging lopsided on my small frame, but it’s comfortable and covers me fairly well leaving only a shoulder and my legs from the mid-thigh down exposed.

As I climb into the bed, I notice the sheets and blankets are pulled taut and they smell freshly laundered. Someone has been in to change the sheets while we were at dinner. I sigh and crawl under the blankets of the monstrous bed wishing it still smelled of cinnamon and dill, of Peeta. In the past couple of weeks, I’ve gotten so used to sleeping next to his warm body that it has become increasingly difficult to go to sleep without him. 

I groan and flip onto my back, slamming my fists against the mattress. My life has changed so drastically so very quickly that it scares me. Who is this girl laying in an endless bed cover in fine linens with an unobstructed view of a star-filled sky pining for a boy? I have a sudden, irrational urge to escape the train and hide. I climb from the bed and turn off all the lights hoping the darkness will make the room feel less vast and, I, more like the Katniss I used to know. 

I slide to the floor against the windowed wall, bringing my knees to my chest, and watch the world outside pass me by. I don’t know where we are, but we have been traveling for hours so we must be outside of Twelve. The landscape looks flat and barren in the moonlight. In the distance, I can see buildings reaching up towards the sky and the light from the moon shimmers like it is dancing on the surface of the water. The thought that we may be passing by a lake makes my heart skip with excitement, but it’s impossible to know for sure in the darkness. The low hum and gentle motion of the train are enough to make my eyelids heavy. I let them close and picture myself back in Twelve leaning against the warm brick of the bakery and watching Peeta sketch a landscape of my woods.

I dream of falling rocks, babies crying, nooses made of satin, and staccato bursts of gunfire. Strong hands cradle my face, gently stroking my cheeks and pulling me from the dream. My eyes flutter open to be greeted with Peeta’s soft smile. Before I can stop myself, I start to cry. I don’t even know why I’m crying. Maybe it’s the remnants of the dream or maybe it's the suffocating, powerless feeling of everything changing all at once while I am left with one foot still firmly planted in Twelve and the other in an unknown future in the Capitol. Peeta meets me on the floor, his thighs bracketing my hips and his arms wrapped around me pulling me against his chest. We both turn to watch the darkness as it sweeps by. The clear, moonlit sky has given way to an ominous, overcast night. Raindrops ping against the glass unevenly, warning of a more intense downfall to come.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, his lips moving against my hair.

I shake my head, but there are other things the darkness of the room and the warmth of his body are making me brave enough to ask. “Were you scared when you joined the army?”

He’s quiet for a long while and I start to regret the question. Then, he takes a deep breath and answers. 

“Yes and no. When my brother died, it was devastating. I couldn’t sleep for a week after because we had always shared a room and his empty bed made the room feel bigger and lonelier. I would lay awake at night and stare at it.” His breath hitches beneath my back and I burrow closer to him. “Then, my father died, and it was like all the air was sucked from my lungs. It felt like I couldn’t breathe and most days I didn’t want to. My mother…she isn’t a kind woman and there’s a lot that goes into that, but without my father, in my life, I didn’t see much point to anything anymore. Looking back, I know that was selfish because everyone lost someone, some more than others, but he was one of the only bright spots in my life. The other was you, but you had Gale and Prim and your mother and we barely knew each other. I didn’t see any way that would change, so I took the first opportunity I had to get away. I know people look at me and think I was brave for signing up and for fighting for the betterment of everyone, but my reasons behind it were purely selfish. I wanted a way to help, but I also saw it as an easy way to sacrifice myself to the cause. So, yes, I was scared because I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, and I didn’t want the war to change me, but I wasn’t afraid to die.”

We sit for several minutes wrapped up in each other. The rain begins falling in earnest, pelting the window above and beside us. The drops cascade like tiny waterfalls all around. I want to ask him more. What did my mother say to him on Hawk Ridge? What was it like to fight? Did he ever kill anyone? Were the bruises I’d seen on him when he was younger from his mother?

“Are you scared now?” I ask instead because at this moment it is what is weighing on my mind the most.

“Terrified,” he answers, his voice nearly swallowed up by the pounding rain. “I’m more scared now than I ever was during the war because now I have more to lose.”

I tip my chin up and place a slow kiss on his lips. Our body heat causes condensation to form on the window. Peeta moves his hand from my waist and begins to draw in the fog. I lean into him, watching him create a scene and wonder how many lifetimes I would have to live before I would feel like I deserved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...what did you think? If you have the time, please let me know. Your reviews and comments make my day!
> 
> Next up, we enter the world of the Capitol and a few more bumps in the road for our pair. Some more familiar faces will make an appearance too.
> 
> Thank you again for everyone reading and enjoying the story. I can't express my appreciation enough!!


	6. Chapter 6

The next day on the train passes quickly. I let myself get swept up in the extravagance during the day and in Peeta at night and I tried not to think about an unforeseeable future. As we wake on our third morning on the train, the scenery outside the window showcases tall, snow-covered mountains and equally as tall glass buildings that shimmer in the sunlight.

The Capitol looks dreamlike wrapped up in misty morning clouds and snow. From our vantage point high on a mountainside looking down at the city nestled in a valley between the peaks, it almost appears quaint and quiet and like a wholly new world. Peeta’s grip tightens around me as we take in the view from the bed. The attendant raps on the door signaling that it’s time for us to wake up and I can vaguely hear Effie’s voice echoing down the corridor over the hum of the train about how big today is going to be.

Breakfast is subdued, anxiety has gotten the better of everyone at the table. Well, everyone except Haymitch it seems. He holds his head in his hands with a queasy look on his face. He must have overdone it last night and is nursing what looks like a fairly bad hangover. My knee bounces under the table. I study the wood grain wondering where the tree it belonged to originated from and what it looked like before it fell. In an instant, the train car is engulfed in darkness. Overhead lights flicker to life.

“We’re in the tunnel,” Effie announces excitedly. “It will only be a few more minutes now.”

Prim and Peeta keep their attention on the windows waiting for the tunnel to end. I look to Haymitch who’s eyes are firmly drawn to the floor. He must sense me watching him because his gaze lifts for just a moment to meet mine. There’s a hardness there I haven’t seen before. He looks like what I imagine he must have before heading into battle. He’s readying himself for an upcoming onslaught, a private war waging in his mind. His reaction to our arrival is unexpected and puts me even more on edge.

Should I be ready too?

Before I have a chance to answer that question, light bursts through the windows and the train slowly rolls to a stop. Effie leads us to the door telling us not to worry, that all over our belongings will be brought to our new apartment. Our belongings are the last thing I’m worried about.

The door slides open and we are ushered onto a crowded platform. I find Peeta’s and Prim’s hands as we maneuver through the densely packed crowd. For the most part, people ignore us. They have no idea who we are yet. There are a few odd looks because it’s plain to see we are from an outlying district based solely on our dress. Murmurs turn to excited shouts behind us and I turn to see the crowd descending on Haymitch. He waves and scribbles quickly on a couple of pieces of paper. Confusion must be etched on my face because Effie leans into my ear reminding me that Haymitch is a former Victor and mentor of the Hunger Games and still very much a beloved celebrity in the Capitol.

We shuffle into an awaiting car on the other side of the platform. Haymitch is the last to enter, twisting away from the grasp of many hands and slamming the door shut. He swears under his breath and pulls a flask out of his jacket. Effie clucks her tongue at him in disapproval. He ignores her taking a long drink, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Peeta’s fingers thread with mine and I look up into his worried eyes. He’s thinking the same thing I am. If a crowd gets this worked up for Haymitch, what will it be like for us?

The car pulls out into the heavy traffic. Prim’s wide eyes are everywhere. She twists and turns in her seat as we round corners and change lanes. She’s never seen this many people in one place. Neither have I. The sheer volume is disorienting. 

“I don’t understand. It doesn’t seem like the population here is suffering. Why institute the lottery at all with this many people?” Peeta asks in a low voice, almost as if he’s thinking aloud. 

“Oh, the Capitol had quite the population hit as well,” Effie pipes up from the front seat. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, especially when you’re from such a small district, but the population used to be twice as big.” She sighs longingly. “But, to answer your question, the lottery doesn’t really exist here.”

“Then…why are we here? If the lottery doesn’t exist, how are we to be the faces of it?” Peeta questions, exasperation edging into his words.

“The lottery is a well-known program, but it isn’t common practice for Capitolites,” Effie continues undeterred by Peeta’s frustration. “Due to the size and current population of the Capitol, a program like the lottery isn’t necessary. There are enough citizens located here for there not to be an issue regarding reproduction. However, in the districts, especially those furthest from the Capitol, it is another story. We do have another program here that offers financial incentives to Capitolites willing to relocate to the districts, specifically those who are married with children or those willing to have children. It’s…still a work in progress.”

Haymitch gives a derisive snort. “What Miss Prissy and Proper isn’t saying is that most of these people wouldn’t be caught dead beyond the borders of the Career Districts, so their little relocation program has amounted to about diddly.”

Effie throws a disgruntled glare in Haymitch’s direction and waves off his comment like a foul smell. “That’s neither here nor there. The people in the Capitol find the lottery and its participants to be intriguing. They are fascinated by the idea of randomly assigned procreation partners or the need for a program like this altogether. They see it as being something rife with drama and romance, both of which have been something sorely lacking here as far as entertainment goes. But, you won’t only be the faces of the program for the people here. Most importantly, you will be the faces of it for everyone else.” 

I scoff and roll my eyes. Drama and romance. Peeta was right. Of course, they will want an epic love story, something manufactured and timeless with just enough entertainment value to pull a nation together. They’ll want people to look at Peeta and me and see possibility. A possibility for love, hope, and a brighter future. Peeta concentrates on our linked hands, a storm brewing in his eyes. An almost imperceptible muscle ticking in his jaw. The only outward indication of his anger. The car swerves suddenly and he lets go of my hand in order to keep his balance in the seat. As the ride smooths back out, he keeps his hands in his lap and I do the same.

The ride ends several minutes later in front of a building that could be a mountain all on its own. As we exit the car, I crane my head, taking in its full height, but the structure rises into the clouds concealing the top from view. The buildings around it are impressive in their own right, but none are as tall or as intimidating as this one. Effie ushers us through the double doors introducing us to the doorman, Pollux. He has a menacing width and height that is offset by bright blue eyes and a kind face hidden behind a red beard. His sandy hair is trimmed and neatly combed back. He bows, smiles and waves to us mutely. 

Prim gifts him with a brilliant smile. Peeta shakes his hand, charming him into a silent chuckle with a self-deprecating joke about his missing limb and trying to climb all of the stairs this gargantuan building surely has. I try to smile too, although it feels more like a grimace. I’m a terrible actress and uncomfortable standing in these fancy clothes on the marble floors of this elegant building that I will apparently be living in when I feel like I should be on my knees scrubbing our shoe marks from the tile. Pollux's forehead wrinkles, the corner of his mouth creeping up just slightly in a knowing smirk. He can see right through the act. I deflate. I have no idea how Peeta and I are going to attract a nation.

Effie practically yanks us into the elevator, whispering that Pollux was a former Capitol slave, an Avox, and no longer has the ability to speak, so we shouldn’t expect him to address us verbally. She reaches past us to a panel of buttons with corresponding numbers, enters a keycard in the available slot, and punches the button next to _115 PH_. The button lights up and the elevator starts to ascend. 

Effie prattles on about the many Capitol officials that live in the building and how it is only a few blocks from the Presidential Palace and the former Hunger Games training facility which now houses military personnel and departmental office space, including The Office of Population Management. She excitedly tells Prim that the secondary school she will be attending is only a block away and that many of the school’s students live in the building or very nearby. 

I block out most of what she says. I’ve never been in an elevator before and the swift ascent leaves my mind feeling slightly disoriented like I’ve been drinking. I look to Prim and Peeta. Prim has a white-knuckle grip on the metal bar encircling the small space and I can see through the forced smile on her face that she is thrown off by the ride as well. Peeta has stationed himself on the other side of Prim and keeps his free hand fisted at his side and the other gripping his crutch tightly. Otherwise, his demeanor seems totally relaxed. He nods at what Effie says and even asks a couple of questions. I’m in awe of his ability to outwardly project a calm, charismatic version of himself even if, internally, he is in turmoil.

A bell sounds above our heads. The delicate ding makes me think of the bakery. I catch Peeta’s gaze for just a second and I know he is thinking the same thing. The elevator doors slide open bathing us in light so bright I’m sure we’ve arrived on an outdoor level. Effie marches ahead of us and we filter off the elevator into an entryway with dark wood floors, white stacked stone walls, and a staircase made of lighter wood that has been created to look like it is floating off the ground. 

“Welcome, welcome!” Effie exclaims as she walks deeper into the space. “I know it’s a bit drab with hardly any color, but I wanted to give you something quaint that wasn’t too outlandish.” She disappears around a corner, her voice echoing off the white walls. 

I look at Prim, mouthing the words “quaint” and “drab” with my eyebrows raised. She giggles and leaves my side, racing up the floating steps and beginning to explore. Peeta moves, slack-jawed, towards the right where I can see the entry to a kitchen. Haymitch leans against the wall by the elevator and sips from his flask. He flicks his wrist and jerks his head to the side mentally commanding me to move.

I tiptoe out of the entryway. Everything has a gloss and shine to it that makes it seem like it belongs in a dream. I fight the urge to run my fingers over the rough surface of the walls and the smooth surface of the wooden stairs. 

The entryway opens up to a living room with high ceilings and windows that seem to kiss the sky. A white leather couch sits on a plush tan rug. A long, low mantel runs the length of the wall across from the couch with a fire roaring within the entire length. To the left is a room that houses an elegant, black piano. A wall separates that room from a dining area that contains a massive table made of wood and glass with seats to match. 

To the right is the kitchen. An island made of dark wood is situated in the middle of the room. It is three times the size of the butcher block table in the bakery. Granite countertops line the walls with hidden cabinets located above and below their surface. A bank of four gas-powered ovens sits in the wall across from the island with a hidden refrigeration area behind a panel in the wall. There is a stovetop embedded into the granite countertop. Just on the other side of the kitchen is a balcony with glass doors that can be retracted to give the appearance of cooking outdoors. 

“Katniss,” Prim’s voice squeals from above. “This is incredible.” 

Effie beams with pride at her choice of living space for us. I leave Effie and Peeta in the kitchen and traverse the staircase to the second level. Halfway up it occurs to me that a living arrangement with stairs is a ridiculous inconvenience for Peeta, especially nonsensical floating stairs with no handrail to aid him. Prim waits for me at the top of the stairs, bouncing on her toes and pulls me behind her past a balcony overlooking the living room below into a small study with a gorgeous wooden desk, leather chair, and bookcase. A pile of school supplies is stacked neatly in the corner. 

A secondary door in the study leads to a bathroom with white marble tile floors, wooden accented walls, and a large sink and vanity that mimics a waterfall. The toilet and shower are sectioned off with frosted glass panels and the large windows offer gorgeous views of the snow-tipped mountains and rooftops of the city. Through the bathroom is another door leading to a bedroom that Prim tells me is hers. It's sparsely decorated compared to the rest of the apartment, but still lovely in its simplicity and perfect for Prim. I tell her as much, but she just grins at me like a fool and pulls me through her bedroom door and back out to the landing at the top of the stairs. 

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” she giggles and pushes me through a large door to the right of the stairs. 

It's a master bedroom that puts the expansive room Peeta and I shared on the train to shame. Like Prim’s room, it's sparse in its decorations. There are some wood accents in the doors and on the bed frame. A fireplace mounted is into the wall across from the massive bed. A group of canvases depicting the life and death of a dandelion adds the only spark of color in the room. The series begins with the green bud springing to life from the dirt, then, the yellow petals flower like a shocking burst of sunshine in this white room, and finally, the flower in its concluding stages, its seeds dancing in the wind like tiny feathered fairies. 

Dark wood adorns the floors, and like on the train, panels of glass with a view of the city and mountain range beyond make up one of the walls. Tucked into the windows is a door that leads to a private outdoor balcony. I run my fingers across the cold glass and try to remind myself that this is my life now. 

Prim snatches my hand and I continue to follow her around a corner and into a jaw-dropping bathroom. A large double sink sits against the wall to my left made of white marble and wood the color of melted chocolate. The same wood is mounted to the ceiling with lights that twinkle like stars above our heads. The floor is the color of clay and looks as if it is made of the earth itself. I long to reach down, to touch it, to see if I can scoop up a handful and discover if it smells like soil too. 

Similar to Prim’s bathroom, each section is partitioned with frosted glass panels or doors to allow for privacy. Past the sink, we enter into the bathing area which is immense and open. The earthen flooring remains, but the walls are covered in large white blocks that look to be carved from a mountainside. There are two rectangular showerheads jutting out from the wall with the panels to operate them hidden in the stony depths. Across from the showerheads is a bathtub big enough to fit four people comfortably. I’m almost certain that I could probably swim in it. I gawk at the extravagance. Effie’s voice calling this place drab and charming still rings in my ears. If this is considered drab, I can’t possibly conceive of what the people of the Capitol consider ostentatious. 

Prim tugs me past the bathing area and into a never-ending closet lined with clothing and shoes for every season. There is an area with large lighted mirrors and chairs. Makeup and other tools and accessories I’ve never seen before sit idly on the tabletops waiting to be used. I assume this is where they will prepare us for the videos and television appearances we will need to make. I grumble at the sight of the area, letting go of Prim’s hand and wrapping my arms around myself. She laughs, a full-bellied laugh, giving me a look that asks what else did I expect when I signed up for this? Pinching my side and kissing me lightly on the cheek, she skips out of the closet. I follow closely behind, afraid of being swallowed up and lost in the sea of Capitol-ness, rounding a corner and ending up back at the landing on the other side of the staircase from the master bedroom door.

The sound of whispering voices seizes my attention. Peering over the balcony edge, I can see Effie and Peeta huddled closely together. Their voices are low and the words unrecognizable, but Effie’s posture and tone are consolatory. Peeta listens intently, his head bobbing stiffly. The tick in his jaw is back. Even from this height and distance, I can see the strain evident in the tense lines of his face and mouth. Something is wrong. I move to go back downstairs when Haymitch saunters into the kitchen, catching my eye and freezing me in my place with his stare.

“Let’s go, boy,” Haymitch says gruffly. “They’re waiting on you and I still have to kiss the boots of the president.”

Effie makes a sound through her teeth like a hiss, the clack of her heels bouncing off the wood and white walls. “It’s not like that anymore and you know it. Don’t be so dramatic, Haymitch. I thought that was my job.”

They join Haymitch as he leads them back to the elevator. Prim has found her way back to me and we both stand at the top of the stairs with twin expressions of bewilderment. Effie glances between Peeta and me, perplexed. His eyes are glued to his shoe, a self-conscious flush creeps up his neck.

“Oh for the love of – “ Haymitch groans, throwing his hands in the air. “We don’t have time for this.” He looks to me and hooks his thumb at Peeta. “He’s got an appointment to get a bright and shiny new leg. The powers that be thought it best if he didn’t appear on camera with the crutch. They like their celebrities to be as perfect as possible.” Haymitch grunts and shakes his head mumbling something under his breath before turning his attention back to me. “Don’t throw that scowling attitude at the boy either. He didn’t know until a few minutes ago. Welcome to the Capitol.” He sweeps his hand through the air in mock grandeur then punches the button calling the elevator. “Let’s go,” he says again as the doors slide open. 

Effie huffs. “So. Much. Drama. Did the war do this to you? I don’t remember these many theatrics from you before.”

Haymitch ignores her and leans against the handrail inside the car. Peeta follows Effie, turning towards Prim and me, his gaze still on the floor. As the door slides closed, he lifts his head. His eyes, a solemn and fathomless blue, pierce straight through me. This doesn’t feel right. I should be going with him. He should get a say in whether this happens or not. To hell with what we look like on camera. I run down the steps, opening my mouth to tell them to wait but the door closes on his face and those eyes before I can reach the last step. 

* * *

Darkness descends over the city. Prim has long gone to bed, but I’m not able to rest in this place with its sharp edges and glistening finery mocking everything about me. And I’m worried about Peeta. I hate to admit that, but I’ve worried about him for years at this point, so I give up the fight. I don’t know this place. I don’t know where they took him or how he is being treated. The not knowing is driving me crazy, but I’ve paced every nook and cranny of this place enough. My anxiety finally affecting Prim to the point that she raised her voice at me.

We spent the day getting to know our new home. Effie returned several hours after her initial departure letting us know that Prim was to start school in the morning and that my prep team would be arriving with the sun to take me back to something called, “beauty base zero.” Whatever that means. 

I stare at the fire burning in the massive living room hearth, casting its orange glow and sinewy shadows throughout the space. I wonder if I curl into a tight enough ball on this couch, would I sink into the cushions and disappear? I unfurl my body in spite of the thought, letting my feet dangle out from beneath the fur-trimmed blanket wrapped around me. I’m braver than this. I’ve dealt with starvation, death, and dying. I can deal with a couple of Capitol people coming to do my makeup. I can deal with a few days without Peeta. I lay in the midst of all this luxury and let the fire and my doubt carry me through dawn.

I must fall asleep at one point because the last thing I remember is being blanketed in darkness as the fire died out. Yet, as I pry my heavy lids open the apartment is bathed in light. Prim is humming softly above me. I listen to her move about as she gets ready for the day. I wonder if she slept well. 

“Morning,” she chirps cheerfully, the top half of her body leaning over the railing above my head.

I groan and cover my eyes with my forearm. “How’d you know I was awake?”

“You stopped snoring.”

“I do not snore!”

“You’re a terrible liar, Katniss. I’ve shared a bed with you for fourteen years. You don’t fool me,” she giggles and disappears back into the second floor. 

A few minutes later she bounds down the steps and into the kitchen, grabbing an apple from a bowl of fruit on the counter. How strange. A bowl of fruit sitting there available to anyone at any time. The little things like this do me good. They help to reinforce my decision even when I’m doubting everything and everyone around me. 

Prim looks stunning dressed in a gossamer blue top the color of cornflowers and neutral slacks. I’m speechless. In these Capitol clothes and in this lavish place, she seems far older than her fourteen years. She still wears her hair in an elegant braid and I give it a tug. 

“A little bit of home,” she whispers, leaning in to hug me tightly. 

“I could walk with you,” I say, burying my face into her shoulder.

“I’ll be okay, Katniss. Don’t worry. Effie assured me that other students will be walking to the school and I can follow them. I’ll ask Pollux for written directions or help if I need it.” 

I don’t know how she does it. How she isn’t scared to death. She is a girl from the poorest section of the poorest district. A girl who would’ve starved to death only a month ago. And here she is, seemingly unafraid, comforting me. She seems to be able to fit in anywhere without a problem. I’m supposed to be the strong one, the brave one, the protector. When did the roles reverse? 

She kisses my forehead and heads for the elevator, giving me one last smile as the doors slide close and she descends out of sight. I trudge to the kitchen, the fur-trimmed blanket still wrapped around my shoulders like a cape, the ends dragging on the ground behind me. I find a coffee maker that Prim must have figured out how to use and pour myself a cup. I don’t really like the taste, but I know I’m going to need it to get through this day. 

The elevator dings again followed by the hustle and bustle of voices excitedly talking over one another. The voices travel into the kitchen and end in a collective and simultaneous gasp. Three sets of shocked eyes fixed in dyed, pluck, primped and tattooed bodies converge on me. Hands touch my hair, my face, my body. The blanket disappears in the fray. Someone pulls me to my feet. The trio talks about me as if I’m not even there. 

“Look at the state of these eyebrows. Good thing we brought the expensive wax,” one says.

“This hair…lovely color but we could enhance it just a bit,” another says.

“These nails! Chewed to bits,” the third clucks, shaking her head.

I am wholly unprepared for the onslaught of their prying hands and fingers. I bristle at their advances which they either don’t notice or willfully choose to ignore. Either way, the more they poke and prod the more pissed off I become. 

A calmer, gentler voice speaks over the trio and they instantly hush. “That’s enough. Leave her to me. Why don’t you go upstairs and get set up? We will be there in a few minutes.”

The trio departs, whispering animatedly to each other as they climb the stairs. I’m left standing in the kitchen with a man that looks so average and normal compared to the group that just left I would swear he was from a district, but his Capitol accent gives him away. As he draws closer to me I can see the kindness emanating from his green eyes. Gold eyeliner has been applied with a light hand to his lids making the green seem to sparkle. He cocks an eyebrow as he takes me in. The trio has gotten me so worked up I’m not sure if the curling tendrils of steam rising in front of my face are from the coffee or me. 

“You look like a girl on fire,” he says with a disbelieving chuckle, placing a hand tenderly on my arm. “Don’t lose that spark.” 

He smiles, and I feel myself calming. I think I may like him. There’s a potential there, brewing under the surface, for friendship. 

“I’m Cinna,” he says.

“I’m Katniss.”

“I can’t promise that you’ll enjoy any of what’s about to happen, Katniss. But I will promise that we will make sure not to lose who you are, fire girl.”

* * *

Cinna makes good on that promise. Even after I’m scrubbed, exfoliated, waxed, moisturized, buffed, and polished, I still resemble myself. My skin is dewy, my eyes shine and my nails gleam, but underneath it all, the Seam girl is still visible. At some point around the prep team’s lunch break, Effie returns determined to give me lessons on etiquette which ultimately end in exasperation for both of us. 

I ask multiple times about Peeta. Effie tells me not to worry, that he’s fine and for the one-hundredth time, stop fidgeting, Katniss. The prep team can’t give me any real answers either. The only thing they know is that Peeta’s team was assigned to the hospital where he is still admitted and that they were told that both teams would be meeting here tomorrow night for our debut interview with Caesar Flickerman. 

They flap their arms excitedly and speak in high pitch voices about this. Apparently, Caesar is very well-known and used to do the interviews and commentary for the Hunger Games. He went into retirement (and hiding) a couple of years into the rebellion and hasn’t been on television since. Cinna leans in to whisper in my ear that Caesar is a true professional and will be kind and patient with us. He will make us look our very best, which is why the government coaxed him out of retirement. 

Prim arrives home from school gushing about the classes, the teachers, and the technology. She fawns over my new look and beams at me while she tells me about her day. I can’t help but smile too. Listening to her excitement and wonderment makes every tedious and anxious part of this day worth it. Her smile disappears when she asks about Peeta. She’s worried about him too. 

As the sun begins to set on our second day, my prep team and Cinna make their exit. The trio blows dramatic air kisses at me, cooing and cuddling Prim, feigning their reluctance to leave as they enter the elevator. They have to be exhausted. I know I am. Cinna pulls me into a warm hug then clasps my hands in his, squeezing them gently. He enters the elevator with the promise of seeing me again tomorrow and winks at Prim as the door slides close.

That night I try to sleep in the room that belongs to Peeta and me. Nightmares make me twist and turn, tangling myself up in the sheets. I dream that Peeta has been taken from me and is being held as a hostage in order to make me suffer. They torture him, beat him, starve him and then, set him free. When we are finally reunited I discover that he has been abused so thoroughly that he hates me now. He tries to kill me. My desperate struggle for air as his hands wrap around my neck is what wakes me from the dream. I bolt upright in the bed, the dandelion paintings leer at me in the dark, twisting my heart. I gasp and claw at the sheets until I’m free from them. In my panic, I somehow end up hurling myself over the edge of the bed and fall to the floor. Pressing my sweaty cheek against the cool wood, I curl in on myself and begin to sob. 

I understand their reasons for keeping us apart. They want a dramatic reunion captured on camera, but what they don’t understand is that my need to make sure Peeta is safe is so entangled with who I am that the not knowing is eating away at me. I pick myself up off the floor and shuffle across the landing into Prim’s room. She’s sleeping soundly on her side and I hesitate in the doorway not wanting to disturb her. The need for comfort overpowers my desire to give her peace though and I crawl into her bed. As I tuck into the warmth of her blankets, she twists and wraps her slender arms around me. It feels like ages since we’ve shared a bed and every memory of sleeping next to her washes over me giving me the comfort I need to finally drift off in her arms.

The mattress shifts. A cool breeze seeps in from under the blankets. I blink against the rays of sunlight sifting through the embroidered curtains framing the windows. Prim walks out of the bathroom already dressed even though the edges of sleep still blur her features. I watch her comb her hair, my fingers itching to split it down the middle and form it into two braids like she used to let me do. She’s too old for that now. 

A loud crash followed by an impressive string of curse words floats in through the doorway from below.

“Haymitch is here,” Prim mumbles.

I throw back the blankets and stumbled down the stairs. I’m not sure how I feel about all these people having free reign to come and go as they please in a place I was told was our home. It certainly doesn’t make it feel like we have any privacy or that we will have any peace. By the time I reach the last step, I’m in no mood for company. 

Haymitch leans heavily on the kitchen island’s surface. His head is bowed, and a hot cup of coffee warms his hands. He looks like I feel: caged, worried, anxious, and desperate for home. He lifts his head as I enter, the dark purple crescents under his eyes betraying just how little sleep he’s gotten. The prep team had chastised me about the same issue yesterday.

“What are you doing here, Haymitch? More etiquette lessons?” I spit, too annoyed by everything to even try to fake pleasantries. 

A bark of laughter escapes him, although it sounds more tired than anything. “Well, good morning to you too, sweetheart. You know you and the boy could both use the help in the manners department, but you’ve been around me long enough to know that’s a skill that’s beyond me.”

He has my attention at the mention of Peeta. “You’ve seen Peeta?” I ask, hurrying around the island and sidling next to Haymitch.

He nods. “I’ve been with him for the better part of the last two days.”

“How is he?” The worry must be unmistakable on my face because Haymitch looks at me, _really_ looks at me, taking his time and drinking in my features. A smile threatens to lift the corners of his lips, but he hides it away quickly.

“He’s nervous. He isn’t sleeping. He isn’t happy he’s not been able to see you. He’s been a giant pain in my ass, but most of all, he’s worried that he’s going to make an ass out of himself on national television and in front of you. He’s been working himself to exhaustion on the new leg.”

I roll my eyes and shift defensively. “That’s ridiculous. I don’t expect him to be able to walk perfectly immediately. And I don’t care if he falls! If he does, I’ll be there to help him back up.” My voice rises as I speak. I’m hurt that Peeta would think that I would laugh at him or that I wouldn’t want to help him. I thought we were past that now. I thought he knew I don’t care about his scars.

Haymitch sighs and his shoulders slump forward, defeated. “He doesn’t want you to have to help him, Katniss. Maybe you haven’t figured this out on your own yet and I hate to be the one to shed light on this for you, but that boy has been in love with you for years. Now, that he finally has a chance to show you how he feels, he is only a portion of who he used to be, both physically and mentally. He’s got a lot of anger and resentment built up about things I’m not sure you know about yet. He’s also scared shitless of failing in front of you because he thinks that if he does, if he’s weak in the eyes of someone he has viewed as so strong, that you won’t want him.”

I’m stunned into silence, swallowing my anger and hurt feelings like a bitter pill. I nod at Haymitch but say nothing more. 

He straightens in his seat. “I’m not sure how you feel about him, but I think that whatever feelings you have are starting to run deep for you too. When you’re on camera tonight, tap into that. They want a love story and they want it to be real. That won’t be a problem for the boy. I’m not saying you love him or that you _should_ love him or that you _will_ love him. But anyone with eyes can see that you care a lot about him. Go with that and let him take the lead. Don’t be afraid to play it up a bit for the cameras, but don’t try to fake it. You’re a terrible actress.” 

I chew my bottom lip and scoff with a half-hearted pout. 

“He’s right,” Prim says in a sing-song voice as she enters the kitchen. “I’ve told you for years that you’re a terrible liar. I’m not saying it’s bad. It one of the things I love most about you.”

She kisses my temple and then, surprisingly, Haymitch’s. She grabs an apple and her bag and leaves for school. Haymitch gets up and makes his way to the elevator as well. 

“Leaving already?” I ask only half-mockingly. The closer he gets to the exit the more I realize I don’t want to be left alone with my thoughts all day.

“I’ve done what I needed to do and said what I needed to say. I’m exhausted. I’m going to try to find some liquid comfort and get some shut-eye. I’ll be back tonight…with Peeta.”

He disappears behind the sliding door leaving me in this mammoth space by myself for the first time. With nothing to do and no one to look after for the first time in my life, I’m not sure how to act. I spend a large portion of my day on the outdoor balcony wrapped in a blanket, watching my puffs of breath as they glide across the icy air. 

We are on a high enough floor that it overlooks nearly the entire city. I scan the landscape for any treed space, some sort of sanctuary I would be able to lose myself in when I need. Unfortunately, other than I few small parks and one larger centralized park, the city is made of what seems like infinite amounts of concrete, stone, and glass. I long for my bow and the smell of pine. I wish I had gotten the opportunity to show Peeta the lake. I wonder if he knows how to swim? 

Prim’s fingers graze my arm pulling me out of my thoughts of the lake and the woods. I blink and try to focus. My eyelashes are cold and stiff.

“Katniss? Have you been out here all day?” Prim asks, crouching down to meet me on the cold, stone floor. Her hand brushes my cheeks. She feels so warm. That’s when I start to notice my shivering body. 

“Why aren’t you in school,” I stutter through chattering teeth. 

“School is done for the day. It’s nearly time for your prep team to arrive. Caesar will be here in a couple of hours.”

She pulls me to my feet, eyeing me suspiciously as she leads me up the stairs and to my bathroom. She runs a bath, helping me strip out of my clothes. She has a worried look in her eyes. I’ve seen that look. I’ve worn that look. It was the same look I gave our mother after our father died. 

“I’m fine, Prim. I promise,” I tell her. 

I make a show of getting into the warm water. She seems satisfied as the warm water brings feeling back to my limbs. I honestly didn’t know I had been out there that long. I had been so lost in the swirling thoughts crowding my head that time slipped by. I sink below the water’s surface and watch as the bubbles from my mouth and nose rise to the top. I need to get a grip. I signed up for this. It isn’t forever. I can do this. For Prim. For Peeta. 

Cinna’s distorted face peers over the edge of the bathtub. He tilts his head to the side, a smile forming. He reaches into the water and helps to pull me back above the surface. He studies me for a moment, his eyes darting across my face seeming to find the answer to a question I don’t know. He reaches for the shampoo and starts to wash my hair. The massaging circles of his fingers ground me, help pull me back into the moment.

“Thank you,” I say once he finishes rinsing the bubbles from my hair.

He tips his head in gratitude, looking me over once more. He taps my chin. “There you are, fire girl. I thought we had lost that spark for a moment.”

He helps me out of the tub and into a robe just as the trio descends upon us. They flutter around me like the mockingjays used to do in the woods during the spring. The warm air and fragrant flowers would send them into a flurry of swoops, dashes, and whistled songs. With my makeup and hair done to their satisfaction, Cinna helps me step into a strapless gown and heeled shoes with crisscrossing straps that climb my calves and secure behind my knees. I haven’t been paying much attention to anything they are doing to me. I know I don’t have a say in how I look or what I wear, so I silently comply with all of their requests. But as Cinna pulls me deeper into the closet to a full-length mirror, I stare in shock. The threesome titter gleefully to each other in the corner of the room.

The gown is A-line with a fitted bodice in a blue so dark it almost appears black. A thin gemstone encrusted belt circles my waist giving the illusion of stars in the night sky. The skirt hugs my curves just enough to highlight my figure yet has an airy quality that flows easily as I move. The top of the skirt is the same matching blue color as the bodice but as the fabric flows it blends into a mixture of soft reds, oranges, purples, pinks, and whites. 

“It’s a sunset,” I gasp. 

How did he know? 

My hair is swept to the side and cascading over my shoulder, held together with hidden clips. It’s simple, by Capitol standards, but more elegant than anything I’ve ever been able to do on my own. My makeup is subtle as well. I can still see the freckles across the bridge of my nose, but my skin is radiant. My grey eyes seem to sparkle like the gemstones on my belt. My lips look fuller although painted in a natural shade of pale pink. I look graceful and sophisticated, womanly even. I look a long way from the worn leather jacket and stained pants of Twelve. But I still look like me. 

I turn to Cinna. “Thank you,” I whisper.

He moves closer to me, straightening the lines of the gown and a stray wisp of my hair. “To me, you have the comfort of the night as it blankets the world inside you.” He points to the dark blue bodice. “But, there’s a fire there too, scorching just below the surface. Bright and brilliant and burning, but beautiful all the same.” He gestures to the muted fiery colors of the flowing skirt. “I also heard your boy likes sunsets, so I thought we’d wow him tonight.” 

He winks, squeezing my shoulder lightly. I beam at him in amazement. I don’t understand how he can see these things about me or why I feel so comfortable in his presence, but whatever the reason, I’m glad he’s here and that I have him as someone I can call a friend.

A commotion erupts downstairs. Voices carry over the balcony and into the room. Prim appears in the doorway outfitted in a lovely yellow knee-length dress, the color of her namesake. She grins at me, shaking her head unable to form words or reconcile the Katniss she knows and the Katniss she sees standing before her.

“You look incredible,” she says reverently.

I tug on the hem of her dress. “You do too, Duck.” 

The trio burst into animated chatter and scramble out of the closet to get a closer look. Cinna raises a well-sculpted brow. “It’s showtime.”

We descend the stairs. My eyes dart around the space wildly, searching for Peeta. My heart is pounding, and I can barely catch my breath. Prim grips my fingers and bumps her hip against mine. So much of this moment reminds me of a month ago. 

Has it only been a month? It feels like another life. 

My gaze lands on Haymitch and I silently beg him for information. His eyes soften. He smirks and mouths the word, “patience.” 

I breathe. 

Quickly, I’m surrounded and shuffled into the living room which has been transformed. The couch, the table, and the rug have been moved and in their place is a plush purple chair and matching loveseat. I have to physically restrain my eyes from rolling at the choice of furniture. Several different cameras are placed around the area to catch every angle. Lights and microphones sit on stands high above the seats. 

Then, a man is in front of me. He kisses the air beside my cheeks and coos over the loveliness of the apartment, of Prim, of me. He’s dress in a blue suit several shades lighter than that of my gown. His hair and lips are dyed to match. He introduces himself as Caesar Flickerman, taking my hand gently between his. His smile appears genuine, but I’m not convinced. His laughter, his mannerisms, the slight swish of his hips as he walks, all seem like an act to me. I wonder what he’s like when no one is watching?

He leads me to the purple loveseat and directs me to sit. There are people crowded around the perimeter of the makeshift set: cameramen, people with clipboards and electronic tablets, Effie, Haymitch, Cinna, the trio, a group that looks like they may be Peeta’s prep team and Prim. I still don’t see Peeta. My fingers dig into the velvety purple cushions. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Caesar make a circular motion with his finger. The cameras come to life, whirring as they focus and zoom in on my face. I ignore it all, scanning the room in desperation. 

And then he’s there. 

I blink not sure if it’s real. The lights are blinding. He is just beyond them covered in shadow, but I know it’s him. He moves forward. His gait is disjointed and slow and I can see the hesitancy just below the amiable mask he is wearing. The cushions are no longer below me. I’m standing. When did I stand up? In the back of my mind I know people are watching, cameras are filming, none of this is private. But the sight of him, on two legs, steals my breath, my thoughts, everything. The lights, the cameras, Caesar, all the people around disappear. It’s eerily quiet. It reminds me of the way we met in the Justice Building. The silence. The shock as I laid my eyes on him. 

“Peeta.” My voice is cracked and fragile like broken glass.

He walks into the light with slow, deliberate steps, but standing on his own two feet. I gape at him. He looks incredibly handsome. His hair has been trimmed and styled. His skin is flawless. His eyes sparkle. He is dressed in a dark blue suit that matches the color of my bodice. The accents and shirt are the same pale white on my skirt. He is luminous. If I am the sunset, he is the sunrise. 

His eyes float over me, his mouth forms an “O” of astonishment. My cheeks grow warm. He finds my hand, placing a light kiss on the knuckles, then, he lifts my hand above my head and twirls me. My skirt swishes around my legs as I come to a stop in front of him. 

“Beautiful,” he whispers before his lips swoop down and claim mine. 

I know this is partly for the cameras. I can feel the nervousness in him now that he’s close. The slickness of his palms. The pounding of his heart. A slight tremble in his hands. Still, I’ve long to have him near for two days. I’ve worried about him to the point of not being able to think of anything else. So, I pour myself into the kiss, opening my mouth to him, relishing the taste. 

I hear the cheers and the sighs of happiness. I hear Caesar clapping. He eventually breaks us up, fanning his face and making gestures like he’s just witnessed something obscene. He points for us to sit, handing me a tissue and pointing to his cheeks. I touch my fingers to my face. It’s wet. When did I start crying? 

Caesar starts the interview. It feels like an out-of-body experience. I giggle and lean into Peeta. I hold his hand and compliment him when asked. I feel awkward and not at all like myself, but I do what I’ve been coached to do hoping that my smile doesn’t look like a grimace even though it feels like one. 

Peeta, on the other hand, is charming, funny, and eloquent. He keeps Caesar laughing. The chemistry between them is amazing. Caesar is as good as everyone told me he would be. He leads us through the interview with ease never letting there be an uncomfortable moment. He introduces us, lightly touches on our backgrounds but doesn’t pry too much. He asks us about our impression of the Capitol and our impression of each other. He speaks with Peeta about his time during the war but steers clear of any horrific details or the loss of Peeta’s leg. He talks to me about my decision to join the lottery and leads me into talking about Prim, which is an easy and comfortable subject for me. 

Peeta tells him about how he has always had a crush on me and how when we were partnered he couldn’t believe his luck. Caesar uses that to segue into a scripted spiel about the benefits of the lottery and how it can lead to real, lasting relationships. He closes the interview by asking us if we think we are falling in love. I freeze. The panic must be evident in my face because Caesar hastily looks to Peeta who hesitates just long enough for me to know that he sees the panic too. He recovers quickly and tells Caesar that it’s still early, but that you never know what might happen. He gives a dazzling smile and I smile too, but I can see the sadness in his eyes. Caesar ends the interview promising the viewers that this isn’t the last they will hear from “Everlark.” Peeta and I exchange a glance. 

The cameras power down. The lights turn off. Crew members gather around picking up the equipment, moving furniture, and heading for the elevator. Caesar shakes Peeta’s hand and kisses my cheeks. He tells us we were brilliant. The whole of Panem is going to fall in love with us even if we don’t know if we are in love with each other. He adds a wink as if he’s in on a secret. His blue hair bounces on his head as he makes his exit telling us that he will see us again soon.

The silence that is left is startling…and stifling. Peeta slumps down in the nearest seat, bending and flexing his new leg. His fingers absently rub just below the knee where his flesh meets machine. Effie is the first to speak, clapping her hands enthusiastically and moving towards us from the kitchen.

“Now, I think that went very well. There was a slight hiccup there at the end, but nothing that a little editing can’t correct. The beginning was simply beautiful. I had hoped that having your reunion on camera would add a hint of extra drama, but you both gave us fireworks. Bravo!”

What?” I seethe, stalking toward her.

The look on my face must be fearsome because she lets out a small yelp and stumbles backward on her ridiculous heels. I knew that keeping us apart until the interview had been deliberate, but I assumed that decision had come from someone higher up. Some nameless, faceless person I could direct my anger towards. Not, Effie. Before I know what’s happening, I have Effie backed into a corner. Haymitch clutches me around the middle, lifting me off the ground and depositing me on the couch.

“Sit,” he says pointing his finger in my direction. “Go,” he says pointing at Effie.

Her hand covers her shocked mouth. She bobs her head, pink ringlets of hair bouncing on her shoulders. She quietly collects her things and totters to the elevator. Prim joins me on the couch. Her expression is a mixture of surprise and disappointment. She takes my hand. I release a harsh breath. Her touch helps to smolder my rage which is quickly morphing into guilt. What did I just do? Effie is a part of OPM. Did I just put all of this in jeopardy?

I look pleadingly at Haymitch. His face is lined with disappointment and... humor? He cocks an eyebrow in my direction and leans against the fireplace. Peeta’s face is emblazoned with confusion, the sadness still penetrates the depths of his eyes. Underneath it all is absolute exhaustion. Now that the cameras are gone, and he no longer has to put up a facade, he looks like he might pass out right where he sits.

“I’ll apologize to Effie tomorrow,” I say to Haymitch.

He grunts and nods his head. “Today was just the first day. There are going to be many more interviews, more time in front of cameras, more questions, more gossip, more details. If you’re going to survive it then you need to grow thicker skin. You’re tougher than today.”

He’s right. I am.

He ambles from the fireplace, slowing as he passes Peeta, giving him a pointed look and a pat on the back. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he calls over his shoulder from the entryway. Get some sleep. Katniss, try not to break anything.” He cackles at his own joke and then disappears into the belly of the elevator. 

Prim yawns deeply beside me. I lean my head on her shoulder and tell her to go to bed. She kisses Peeta on the cheek as she passes. He beams a tired smile at her and tells her she looks beautiful. She flushes and skips barefooted up the stairs, her shoes dangling from her fingers. 

Peeta exhales harshly, laying his head in his hands and scratching his fingers through his hair messing up the sleek style. Free from their confines, his unruly curls spring in wayward directions reminding me of the way he looks in the morning. Peeta in the morning is one of my favorite versions of him with his ruddy cheeks, mussed hair, warm body, and soft smiles. My heart constricts tightly in my chest. 

I rise and slowly approach him. “Does it hurt?” I ask, crouching down beside him as best I can in the dress and heels.

He hesitates as if to lie, then simply nods. “It’s not too bad. Just sore. Nothing like when I lost it.”

I wonder what that was like for him. How much pain he must have endured.

“Besides,” he continues, a smile forming and brightening his tired features, “it was worth it. I got to dance with you a little bit. I’ve always wanted to do that.”

He’s talking about the twirl and the kiss. I blush. “I don’t know why you’d want that. I’m a terrible dancer,” I tease.

“I somehow doubt that.” He cups my cheek. “I’m sorry about what Caesar said. I know it’s not what you want or what you feel. I hate that you have to pretend that it is.”

The truth is that I don’t know what I feel. I’ve missed him terribly. I haven’t been the same since he left. Is that love? If it is, do I want to give myself over to it and risk everything I’ve always feared?

I lean into his hand. “I’m glad you’re back,” I softly say. 

He takes my face fully in to his hands, placing a gentle kiss on my lips and resting his forehead against mine. “I’ve missed you too.”

I stand, taking his hand and pulling him up. “Let’s go to bed.” 

I lead him up the stairs. He leans heavily on me taking one step at a time, but I don’t mind, and I don’t let go of his hand. His tired eyes take in everything. He mutters a soft “wow,” as I tug him through the bedroom and into the bathroom. When we reach the shower, I press several buttons on the panel hidden in the wall, and water rains from the showerheads filling the room with warm, humid air. 

Peeta watches as I unlace my heels. I move around his back and remove the suit jacket. He loosens the necktie as my fingers work on the shirt buttons. As I undress him, I notice that the light scars on his arms and hands are nearly invisible. The long-jagged scar on his side has been treated as well and if I didn’t know where to look, I wouldn’t notice it. I trail my fingers over it. Peeta sucks in a mouthful of moist air. I move to his dress pants making quick work of the belt, button, and zipper. I pull the garment down his legs.

“Wait, um…” he says quickly, insecurity clouds his features. But I already have the pants around his ankles. 

I’m face to face with his new limb. Its mirrored finish and polished mechanisms reflect the twinkling lights of the room and my face. Peeta bites his bottom lip. His eyes search mine cautiously. He’s scared of what I think and how I’ll react. This machinery is a permanent part of who he is now. It fits onto the scarred flesh below his knee like a glove. I can’t help but think that it is beautiful. I kiss the space where skin and metal meet.

He steps out of the pants, shimmying his underwear down his legs as well. I take in the sight of him. He is flawless. And while gorgeous, I miss the imperfections. I liked all the marks and scars. They told the story of him. I wish they would have left them alone just like I wish mine were still there too. 

I find the zipper on the side of my gown and let the dress pool at my feet. Removing my underclothes, I take Peeta’s hand and pull him into the shower. For a moment, we stand under the spray of water just looking at one another. There’s no awkwardness. In fact, the only feeling I can conjure is joy. I’m so overwhelmingly happy that he is with me again. I might do something stupid, like cry again.

He touches my face, pushing the wet tendrils of hair behind my ear. I skim over the contours of his shoulders. We inch together as if tethered by an ever-decreasing string. All at once, or maybe not soon enough, the touching turns into a need for more. More of him under my hands. More of the feel of his body against mine. More of the taste of his tongue. More of everything about him. 

His eyes blaze. The tiredness that consumed them, temporarily vanishes. The spark that Cinna often reminds me not to lose, ignites into an inferno. We collide. Hands and mouths. Legs and hips. There are no words, only an insatiable hunger that can’t be suppressed with food. Peeta lifts me, pinning me against the smooth stone wall with his body. My legs circle his hips. His tongue explores my mouth. I tilt my head, deepening the kiss. Droplets of water wind unruly paths down our faces and drip from our chins. Releasing my mouth, he sinks into me. We both cry out at the contact. This isn’t gentle or slow like the times on the train when we were learning about each other. This is needy. This is longing.

I hold onto him, my fingers curling into his wet hair. The sounds of our bodies and our voices filling the room. He hitches my legs higher, colliding into me with a rhythm that drowns out everything else. The angle causes the friction of our movements to rub against me in the most delicious way. He pants against my neck, gripping my thighs, tensing under my fingers. The inferno builds, consuming every part of me until I burst around him, his name dripping from my lips like the water that still showers us. He follows me only moments later. We cling to one another, my legs still around his waist, him still inside of me. 

“I’ve always wanted to do that too,” he says breathlessly, his lips moving against the base of my throat.

“Always?” I tease, smoothing the water as it runs down his back.

He pulls back chuckling, an impish smile on his face. “Well, long enough that it's felt like always.”

I laugh and kiss his nose. I never allowed myself to think of anyone that way. To wonder what it would be like to be this way with someone, the things I would want to do with them. Now, as we stand together under the falling water I can’t imagine ever going back to the way I was, to life before him.

“Please don’t disappear again. I was so worried,” I say, my forehead pressed against his.

“I won’t,” he whispers.

“Stay with me,” I murmur, fatigue setting into my body once again. 

He answers with one singular word. One perfect word. And I know he means it. “Always.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincere appreciation to you again for following and reading this story!! What did you think of this chapter?? 
> 
> We are definitely going to be getting more into Peeta's backstory in subsequent chapters. I went a little more high-tech on my interpretation of Peeta's new leg. In my mind, it is more of a permanent thing than something he would take on and off and the technology of it would allow for a much faster learning curve on using it.
> 
> If anyone is interested, I started an Instagram account specifically for my fanfiction that I can share pics of my inspiration for Katniss and Peeta's apartment, Katniss's dress, the Mellark bakery, and other details that will come up in the story. I do a stupid amount of research for the chapters and would love to share. I can also add chapter teasers and keep you up to date on my progress. IG: Isarnicole_everlark_fanfics
> 
> I know that people use Tumblr for these sorts of things, but honestly, Tumblr confuses me LOL so I'm sticking with what I'm comfortable with :).


	7. Chapter 7

Time is strange. When the mine collapsed trapping my father inside, the minutes seemed to tick by so slowly that the waiting for news felt like it took years, not mere days. The district seemingly held its breath in fear and desperation as time crept by. The days of hunger and of fighting felt the same way, inching incredibly slowly towards an outcome that you can’t see; an outcome you don’t know will ever arrive.

Time in the Capitol has the opposite effect. Hours fly by, turning into days and weeks blurring the lines of our reality. There are more interviews, both on camera and in print. We are taken to the old Hunger Games training facility and the OPM offices that lay within it. There’s a large open room that has been converted into a soundstage. This is where Peeta and I spend most of our days filming scripted segments that will air to the whole of Panem. These segments, or “propos” as the crew likes to call them, are the brainchild of a man named Plutarch Heavensbee.

Heavensbee was in charge of every piece of propaganda that the rebellion released during the war. Prior to that, he had been a Gamemaker in charge of designing and controlling arenas that sent children to their deaths. He’s rotund in size and personality. He greets us jovially each time we see him, although there is always a bit of condescension in his words. 

I don’t like him.

I don’t trust him. 

Haymitch tells me I have nothing to worry about, that Heavensbee is an expert when it comes to creating propos and that being nice to him will go a long way in making our time here more bearable. Still, I don’t miss the way Haymitch’s eyes narrow or the way his body tense’s in Heavensbee’s presence.

I smile. I say what they tell me to say. I kiss Peeta. We laugh. We act for the cameras. I grit my teeth so hard I fear they might crack. 

At night, Peeta and I hold each other close. We kiss and touch in a way that’s just for us. We chase away nightmares that become more frequent the more well-known we become. Our interviews and propos begin to air throughout Panem. People wait for us outside the doors of our apartment building. They yell our names when they pass us on the street. They insist we embrace or kiss for a picture that they take home as a keepsake. The forced nature of our public life makes us withdraw from each other in the privacy of our apartment only to find us frantically clinging together with heated lips and bodies slick with sweat and desire days later. No matter how much we are forced to put on an imitation of physical love in public and on camera, there is always a pull to be near, a longing to touch and be touched even when we both desire bits of solitude. 

Prim thrives in school and earns a coveted volunteer position at the Capitol hospital. Peeta purchases art supplies and fills the apartment with color and life. He draws and paints and bakes. He grows steadier on his new limb until it rarely bothers him anymore. I long for the woods. I miss the peacefulness and the quiet that doesn’t seem to exist in this city of glass and stone. One night I discover a secret doorway hidden behind clothing in our closet leading to a small rooftop garden. The garden is overgrown with neglect and dormant due to the cold. 

I spend my time tending to the plants. Digging my fingers in the cold earth makes me feel like myself. During our eighth week in the Capitol, I climb the hidden steps and find an oak tree sapling in a pot; a gift from Peeta. I touch the branches, think of home, and smile until my cheeks hurt.

Peeta joins me in the garden. He likes working the earth just as much as I do. He tells me how when he was a child he was in charge of the small bakery garden and the few chickens and pigs they kept in a pen alongside the building. The icy mountain air grows warmer. We plant seeds in pots and marvel as the tiny buds pop through the surface of the soil.

* * *

The trill of a buzzer pulls me from the first pleasant dream I’ve had in days. I thread my fingers through Peeta’s and pull his arm tighter around my waist. He groans and burrows his face into the back of my neck. It’s Saturday, we’re naked and there shouldn’t be any visitors today. I start to drift off again, blanketed in the smell and feel of Peeta against my back when the buzzer sounds again. I punch the mattress and pry my eyelids open. 

I had asked to have the buzzer installed a couple of weeks after our arrival. Haymitch had made the mistake of unexpectedly showing up one evening, when Prim was working a late shift at the hospital, to find Peeta and me wrapped up in each other on the living room couch. We were too far gone in what we were doing to notice his arrival. 

Although, the pants and moans should have clued him in. It wasn’t like we were being quiet. 

He got an eyeful of my breasts and an earful of my shrieks as I flew off Peeta’s lap to cover myself before he hurried back to the elevator, his hand covering his eyes, and mumbling that he didn’t see anything. The buzzer has been in place ever since. 

“Maybe if we ignore it, they’ll go away,” Peeta mumbles into my hair. 

I wish that were true. The sun has barely begun to peek over the mountaintops and there could only be one person to make a house call at this hour: Effie. She won’t stop until we answer, and I know her incessant chatter will drive poor Pollux crazy. The sound careens through the quiet apartment again and I hear Prim’s light footsteps padding down the stairs. I’m instantly filled with guilt. She had school and a late hospital shift last night. She deserves to sleep. 

I roll out of Peeta’s embrace and throw on his shirt and my pajama pants. He chuckles at the sight of his shirt draped over my small frame, but I know he secretly loves it and I secretly like to breathe in his cinnamon and spiced scent from the fabric when no one is looking. He grabs his pants, pulling them on, and follows me down the stairs. We thank Prim for answering the call and send her back up to bed. Peeta heads for the kitchen and I sit on the stairs awaiting Effie’s arrival. 

“Oh, Katniss! Good morning, dear,” she coos as she steps off the elevator. “I hope I didn’t wake you. I have so many important errands to run today. Your celebrity status is keeping me very busy indeed.” She wobbles past me towards the kitchen. “Coffee. I desperately need a very strong cup of cof – oh! Peeta! I didn’t know you would be in here and – and wearing so little clothing.”

I snigger and listen as Peeta laughs under his breath. He is shirtless, sure, but he is still covered from the waist down. Although to be fair to Effie, he is wearing the one pair of cotton pants that hang low on his waist and cling to his hips in the most delightful way.

I pull myself off the steps and trudge to the kitchen. Peeta puts coffee and a muffin in front of Effie. She practically swoons as she takes a seat. I roll my eyes and pinch Peeta’s side as I walk by. He’s doing this deliberately. The pants, the coffee, and the muffin. He’s teasing Effie and trying to make me laugh. He chuckles, rubbing his side and sitting on the stool across from Effie. He drops two sugar cubes into a cup of peppermint tea and slides it over to me. He brings his own sugarless tea mug to his lips, blowing at the surface to cool the liquid down. I really wish Effie would get on with whatever she came here to tell us and make a quick exit. I squirm on my stool. Between the low hanging pants and the bow of Peeta’s mouth as he cools his tea, I want nothing more than to pull him back upstairs and into our bed.

As if reading my mind, Effie clasps her hands together excitedly and finally blurts out what made her show up at such an early hour. “So, children, I have big, big, big news! You two have become something of household names over these past months. The people of Panem are just as smitten with you as I am!” She bats her eyelashes at Peeta and gives me a small smile. She’s still wary of me after what happened during our first interview with Caesar. She clears her throat. “President Paylor is very grateful for everything you’ve done to promote and propagate the lottery program. She is aware of your notoriety and the well-wishes of your fans throughout the country.” Effie pauses. Her hands grip her coffee cup tightly. “As such, questions and stories of Peeta’s time in the army have started to arise. 

Peeta’s fingers clench around his mug. Effie continues. “President Paylor has suggested bestowing the Medal of Valor upon Peeta for his bravery during the rebellion.” Effie turns towards me. “Did you know that he saved Haymitch’s life as well as several others?”

I nod. I did know that, but I don’t have a clue about the details. Peeta doesn’t like talking about his time with the army and I haven’t gotten the courage up to pry. I know the nightmares that plague him must be attributed to the war, as are mine, but he avoids my questions when I try to ask preferring to focus on each moment as they happen.

Effie turns back to Peeta. His skin is pale and the death grip he has on the mug threatens to shatter the ceramic. “I can’t believe you would keep such secrets from us. You’re a hero! I for one am honored to be able to celebrate your bravery,” she exclaims. 

“Th – Thank you,” he stutters in reply. “I’m going t – to go get dressed.”

He jumps up from the kitchen island and hurries out of the room leaving his steaming tea untouched on the counter. I chew my bottom lip and glance at Effie who seems perturbed by what I’m sure she assumes is rude behavior on Peeta’s part. 

His stuttered reply worries me. I’ve come to recognize that as a telltale sign of anxiety for him. I can’t help but think this medal ceremony is an extremely bad idea, no matter how well-intentioned. However, it’s the president’s idea and it is considered unheard of to decline a gift from the president. 

I get up from my stool intent on following Peeta up the stairs knowing that Effie can let herself out when her hand rests atop mine stopping me from leaving.

“Katniss, I need to speak with you about something delicate…please,” she says in a low voice, her eyes darting down to the stool in a silent plea for me to cooperate. 

I sit and wait as she falters, looking for the right words. I extract my hand from hers and fist both my hands in my lap. Effie never hesitates and is the bluntest person I’ve ever encountered. Her caginess makes me uneasy.

“What is it?” I snap.

“Well, you’ve been here for five months, and I feel like it’s my duty to let you know about the rumors that have begun to circulate. I would hate for you to be blindsided at Peeta’s award ceremony.”

My fists clench tight. My nails dig into my palms. I know where this is going. I had naively assumed we would be given a bit more time. “What rumors?”

Effie sighs and shifts on her stool. “People have started to question the legitimacy of your and Peeta’s love story. There are rumors that are starting to grow that the story is manufactured to get more people to apply for the lottery and that you two aren’t actually a part of the lottery, nor are you actively coupling to reproduce.”

My teeth sink into my bottom lip so hard I taste blood. The corners of my eyes start to sting. My cheeks burn. I knew this was coming. I knew the moment I stepped off the train. I knew when I saw the sideways glances of the crew on the soundstage. People were going to see right through this, see me for the terrible actress that I am. I’m embarrassed and ashamed. 

Another emotion wiggles to the surface as well. I’m hurt. If people knew how hard it is for Peeta and me to keep our hands off each other and how there is hardly a surface in this apartment that we haven’t been intimate on, they would shut their mouths. We are most definitely holding up our end of the contract we signed. Aside from that, I’m hurt because what I feel for Peeta is real. It’s undefinable and frightening, but real. The idea that anyone would think I’m indifferent makes my blood boil. It makes me want to scream. 

Effie places a hand on my shoulder to console me. It takes everything I have not to push her away. “These rumors will all be put to bed once you’re with child, dear. Don’t worry. It’ll happen.”

She smiles and pats my cheek, but the concern is clearly evident in the crease of her forehead and the almost imperceptible crinkle in the corner of her eyes. She’s worried. And I’m certain OPM isn’t going to give us much more time before they try to intervene.

* * *

Peeta kisses me as a camera pans around our bodies. Flashes of light explode in my periphery. People lining the walkway take our photo. This is far from the first time we have kissed in public, but tonight he’s nervous. I can feel it in the tentative way his lips meet mine and the tremble of his hand against the bare skin of my lower back. Yet, when we pull apart, he smiles and waves and does his best to captivate the crowd. His hand never leaves my back though. Maybe it’s partly for the cameras and maybe he’s using me to steady himself. Either way, I’m grateful for it.

Cinna has dressed me in a form-fitting gown with a high neckline and an open back that drops down to just above my tailbone. Sheer fabric drapes from my shoulders and scoops along my back in a gentle cowl. The gray color shimmers in the flashing lights but holds an ominous feel, like an impending thunderstorm. It is exquisite but leaves very little to the imagination and with Effie’s words still ringing in my ears, I feel exposed and vulnerable. Peeta, on the other hand, is outfitted in the rebellion army’s formal dress uniform. The uniform has been tailored to fit him perfectly and I’ve never seen him look more handsome, or more miserable. I can tell by the forced smile on his face and the way his fingers pick at his sleeves and the pinstripe on his trousers that he hates it. We pose for a few more photos. His fingers restlessly dig into my waist as we smile and flirt for the cameras. Finally, we are ushered into the Presidential Palace.

The president’s home is just as affluent and astonishing as I imagined it would be. The halls are lined with expensive-looking artwork and furniture. Every room we pass is filled with lush fabrics, plush carpets, dark woods, and high ceilings. Crystal chandeliers dangle from golden chains dotting the ceilings like their own sparkling constellations.

We are escorted through a set of double doors into a grand ballroom. A balcony level with an ornate, granite balustrade circles the room. Granite staircases spiral down from the balcony to the ballroom floor below. Food and drink line the walls. Tables and chairs adorn the perimeter of the room leaving a vast open space for mingling and dancing. A large stage has been erected at the far end of the space that a string quartet currently occupies, filling the room with its soft melodies. 

Bodies glide all around us; men dressed in tuxedos or military uniforms similar to Peeta’s, and women dressed in the finest gowns the Capitol has to offer. I hold fast to Peeta’s arm as nameless faces descend on us. They ooh and ahh wanting to shake our hands, congratulate Peeta, ask us increasingly personal questions, or just simply say hello. Fingers graze our shoulders and brush through our hair. We move through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries and answering questions politely, yet evasively, just as we’ve been trained to do.

When a bell rings signaling dinner, we make our escape finding a table with our names written on glossy, folded paper cards. The table’s other occupants begin to filter in and I breathe a sigh of relief at the familiar faces. Some like Haymitch and Effie are welcomed, while others like Heavensbee are not. But I’d rather have him at the table than someone I don’t know. At least with him, I know what I’m dealing with. 

Low, excited murmurs grow from the ballroom doors. The crowd that has not gone to their tables has converged on the center of the ballroom while others rise from their seats to see what all the commotion is about. Breaking through the crowd and heading towards our table with a well-practiced swagger and smile to match is Finnick Odair. 

He is alone although I know he has a wife, but the solitude doesn’t seem to bother him. In fact, he seems to relish in the crowd’s excitement and the way they paw at him and fawn over him. He blows a few kisses, shakes some hands, and waves to people that call out his name before making his way to us. He claps Heavensbee on the back, making the man rumble with laughter, then takes his seat next to mine. 

He is incredibly attractive, there’s no denying that. He’s tall with an athletic build and perfectly styled copper hair. Charisma oozes from him like sap from the maple trees that grow just beyond the old border fence in Twelve. I can see how he became so popular during the Hunger Games and as the face of the rebellion. However, there is something about his persona that doesn’t sit well with me. It almost feels too forced, like he is performing a part. He makes a grand gesture of kissing my knuckles, joking with Peeta about his lottery luck and my beauty, but I can see the way the corners of his sea-green eyes subtly crinkle as if he desperately wants to roll his eyes at himself.

I know exactly how that feels.

I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s here. He was the voice of the rebellion, the star of their army, their very own teenage, trident-wielding Poseidon. Or, at least that’s the nickname they gave him. He was a major part of the army, so of course, he would be at a presidential military function. 

He eyes the table, a smug grin perched on his lips. “Haymitch! I hardly recognized you without your piss-stained clothes and a bottle in your hand.”

I gape at Finnick, my mouth opening and closing like a fish on a hook. Haymitch smirks, leaning back in his chair and brushing his hands down his uniform jacket and across the badges and medals above the breast pockets. 

“You clean up pretty good yourself, Finn. If I remember right, the last time I saw you, you were passed out naked in a cow pasture in Ten,” Haymitch retorts. 

The table goes quiet. The men stare at each other for several seconds before bowling over in laughter. 

“You are never going to let me live that down,” Finnick guffaws. “I was seventeen! It’s hardly the last time you saw me.”

“Yeah, but it still makes you blush. So, I’m going to use it every chance that I get.”

Finnick waves him off, his face scarlet at their shared memory. The people around the table chuckle along with them, apparently in on the joke. I look at Peeta. He’s smiling tensely while his eyes keep shooting in the direction of the stage. The band is gone, and a podium has been set up in their place. President Paylor makes her way up the steps and across the platform. She’s dressed elegantly in a sweeping midnight blue gown. Her hair is pulled into a low bun at the nape of her neck. She is beautiful, although you can tell by the harsh lines in her face and hands that war and the strain of the presidency have aged her prematurely. 

“Welcome, everyone,” she says into the podium’s microphone. A hush falls over the crowd. “Let me be the first to extend my gratitude to each and every one of you for your tireless work and enormous effort as we strive towards building the foundation of a free and united Panem.” She pauses while applause rings out through the ballroom. Her eyes drift to our table. “Tonight, we are gathered together to celebrate the drive and effort of two extraordinary young people: Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. They have become the faces and ambassadors of our lottery program. Because of them, we have the ability to dream and hope for a brighter future for every citizen of this great nation.”

More applause flows through the room. I stare at my hands. My face grows hot. The president smiles and continues. “We are also here to honor Private First Class Peeta Mellark for his unprecedented courage and unparalleled selflessness in the field of battle. My office has been inundated with stories of Private First Class Mellark during his time in the army. Most of the stories speak to his selfless, giving nature and the way he would go above and beyond for not only his fellow soldiers but for every citizen he encountered. There have also been several stories telling of his bravery under fire and the way he risked his own life to save the lives of others. So, if you will all stand with me to honor Private First Class Mellark as we bestow upon him the Medal of Valor.”

Everyone stands. Cheers echo off the granite above our heads. Peeta rises. I watch as he fists his hands at his sides, then wipes his palms on his trousers, kisses me on the cheek, plasters a winning smile on his face and mounts the stage to accept his medal. He approaches the podium and shakes the president’s hand. She moves behind him and places a golden medallion around his neck. She leans close, whispering something in his ear. He nods, smiles, and turns towards the microphone. 

The applause dies down. Peeta’s hands grip the edges of the podium, his fingers still trembling. The room goes quiet in anticipation of his words. He opens his mouth several times, but no words come out. He smiles shyly, a slight blush coloring his face. A light chuckle moves through the crowd. A bead of sweat trickles from his hairline and drips down the back of his neck disappearing into his shirt collar. He blinks, takes a deep breath, and steadies himself. I dig my fingers into the tabletop, desperate for some way to help him out of this. To my surprise, Finnick’s fingers brush against mine on the table. I meet his eyes. He gives me the first genuine look and smile that I’ve seen from him this evening. 

A sad smile. 

A knowing smile.

He leans close to whisper. “He’ll get through this. I’d like to say he’ll be fine, but I don’t think any of us are really fine. We’re survivors. He’ll survive this. He’s survived worse.”

I look at Finnick’s face. For a moment his mask of charisma and indifference are gone. I can see just how weary and scarred he actually is. He winks, popping a sugar cube meant for the coffee and tea into his mouth, and the mask is back. Peeta begins to speak, drawing my attention back to the front of the room.

“I’m honored to be here tonight and to receive this amazing gift. I wish I could say I deserve this, or even that I think I do, but we all did what we could to help the cause and create a free Panem. I – I met people, brilliant, wonderful people much more selfless and worthy than I am. People that deserve this honor more than someone like me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel completely humbled to receive this and to be in the presence of such a prominent audience. I will continue to wo – w – “

He falters, his eyes homing in on a table at the far end of the room. I follow his eyes. The table seats a group I don’t recognize. A few people in highly decorated uniforms, like Haymitch’s, and a couple of Capitolites distinguishable by their body alterations. Then, I see her. It feels like I’ve stepped back in time. I’m back in Twelve longingly staring at the cakes in the bakery window only to be assaulted by the rough straw of a broom end across my back and hateful words spit in my face. 

Somehow and in some way, Peeta’s mother is here in the Capitol and in this ballroom. I remember him telling Prim and me that she lives in District One. Maybe that’s how she found her way here. There’s no doubt that she knows about our campaign with the lottery.

Her mouth is a taut line. Her expression is grim. Her blue eyes piercing their way from her son to me. I swallow thickly but meet her gaze. I have no reason to fear her any longer. I’m not the small, frightened Seam girl I used to be. That doesn’t mean my heart isn’t pounding against my ribs at the sight of her.

Peeta recovers, continuing his speech. “I will continue to strive to do what is best for our country and all the people who reside in it. I, too, look forward to brighter days in our future. Thank you.” 

He nods his head in gratitude and makes a hasty exit from the stage. As he finds his seat back at the table, the president returns to the microphone announcing the start of dinner. Servers enter through the ballroom doors, weaving their way through the tables carrying platters laden with food. 

The tension at our table is palpable. I can see from the look Haymitch gives me that he’s seen Peeta’s mother. The others throw varying degrees of pitied looks in Peeta’s direction. His fingers clutch his thighs, his eyes lock on his empty plate. 

Unexpectedly, a loud blech ricochets off the walls through the cavernous room. Cutlery clatters. Plates crash. Servers stop their movements. Guests look up from their seats. And all eyes swing towards Haymitch. He holds up his hands in a placating and apologetic way. He shrugs, brushing off the looks of disgust around him as if to say he doesn’t care what people think. Finnick throws his head back, bawdy laughter expelling into the air. A smattering of giggles and chortles surface from the surrounding tables. The tension ebbs. Peeta looks up from his plate and almost smiles.

Finnick, Haymitch, and even Heavensbee entertain the table during dinner with their stories and banter. It’s clear they have a well-formed bond that only comes from going through exceptional circumstances with someone. By dessert, Peeta and I are laughing along. His easy smile has returned. I look at our table and realize that nearly everyone here is looking out for our best interest. They are only trying to help us, advise us, or at the very least, make us laugh. I’ve been overly harsh and highly critical. Most days my attitude borders on gruff, if not downright rude. Yet, they still keep trying. Their intentions are good. I need to go easier on them, Haymitch especially. It’s clear that he cares deeply for Peeta. I need to thank him for everything he has done and is doing at some point.

As dinner ends, the string quartet is replaced with a full band and people filter from their seats to the dance floor. Finnick excuses himself to mingle amongst the crowd. Effie waves enthusiastically to friends as she prances in their direction. Haymitch mumbles that he needs a real drink, straightening his uniform as he rises from his seat. Eventually, the table empties of everyone but Peeta and me. 

I brush my fingers over his cheek. His eyes close at the contact. “Are you okay?” I quietly ask.

He exhales and nods. “Better now,” he murmurs, leaning into my touch. 

“Well, well. What do we have here?” an icy voice drifts across the table.

Peeta’s eyes snap open. I pull my hand from his face so quickly my knuckles crack against the chair back in my haste. We turn our heads simultaneously to see Mrs. Mellark standing beside Finnick’s abandoned chair. She is small in stature, but even her diminutive physical appearance doesn’t stop her presence from seemingly sucking all the oxygen from the room. 

Peeta rises to his feet. “Mother,” he greets solemnly. “I didn’t expect to see you in the Capitol. How have you been?”

She lets out a humorless bark of laughter and takes the seat next to Finnick’s ensuring there is a distance between us. Peeta sits as well. “How have I been? Honestly, Peeta? Well, let’s see. I left that decrepit district with the understanding that the bakery that your father and I devoted years of our lives to would be taken care of. I distinctly remember you promising me that. Am I remembering incorrectly?” 

Peeta shakes his head. His hands grip his knees. His knuckles turn white with the effort. 

Mrs. Mellark leans back in her seat. “I didn’t think so. Can you imagine my surprise when I turn on the television and find your face on the screen? And, spouting some ridiculous love story at that? Truly, Peeta, if you had wanted to get your dick wet with some Seam slut, you didn’t have to join the lottery to do it.” She scrutinizes me, her eyes moving up and down my body with disdain. 

My cheeks flare and my skin prickles with mortification and rage. Peeta stiffens beside me, his posture ramrod straight. His hands move from his knees to the tabletop. He opens his mouth to speak, but his mother beats him to it.

“And now I have to suffer the humiliation of knowing that any half-bred children you produce are technically related to me. It’s laughable and I would be laughing if I weren’t so fucking furious about it. Apparently, my rolling pin never struck you hard enough to beat the idiocy out of you.”

I gasp. Peeta is shaking. It takes every ounce of my self-control to keep my mouth shut. As much as I want to say something, as much as I want to put this horrible excuse for a human being in her place, I know that is Peeta’s job. 

Mrs. Mellark’s glacial stare pins me to my seat. “Close your mouth, dear. I understand that is a normal response for Seam trash such as yourself, especially when falling to your knees, but it is unbecoming in a place as glamourous and stately as this one.” Her eyes narrow. “Leave us. I need to speak with my son alone.”

I look to Peeta. Under the boiling anger, I see the sincerity and apology in his eyes. His face is crimson. His eyes are glassy with unshed tears. I raise my eyebrows imploring him to ask me to stay. I don’t want to leave him with this vile woman even if she is his blood. 

His eyes soften. He brings his hand to my face, skimming his fingers along my jaw. He opens his mouth to say something, but changes his mind, closing it and then opening it again. “It’s okay. Go,” he whispers. 

I stagger from the table, somehow retaining my composure as I push past people and wind my way up a set of spiral stairs to find an available bathroom above. Tears prick my eyes. I’ve heard the things she said about people like me, people from the Seam, before, and it’s never affected me like this. I’ve always been proud of where I’m from. Maybe it’s because of Peeta. Maybe it’s because her words ring with a bit of truth. He could do so much better than me. He should do so much better than me. I won’t let her see me cry. I won’t let any of these people see me cry. I can’t let her get to me that way. 

I rush past gawking faces and through the bathroom door. Thankfully it’s empty. Hurriedly, I enter the first available stall, slamming the door closed and slumping down on the toilet. The tears spill from my eyes while pathetic whimpers tumble from my lips. I’m certain I’ve completely ruined all of Cinna and the Trio’s hard work. Five minutes. I’ll give myself five minutes to sit in this stall and feel sorry for myself. Five minutes to let that witch’s words damage me. Then, I’ll wipe away any evidence and hold my head high. 

I wheeze and gulp for air. I’d be embarrassed if I weren’t so pissed off. I haven’t cried like this since my father died and even then, I ran into the woods to wail in peace. The door to the bathroom opens. Voices fill the space in the midst of conversation. I swallow my sobs and freeze.

“...he’s too good. I don’t buy it.”

“There’s no way they’re actually under contract. If I were partnered with him, I’d forget what clothes were. We wouldn’t be able to walk straight.”

They laugh. The first adds, “I would definitely be pregnant by now.”

“Well, obviously. Did you see his ass in that uniform?”

“I heard that all the coal dust in the air made her infertile. She's defective. They’ll be looking for a new partner for him any day now. I know it. Especially after they gave him the medal.”

“Sign me up!”

They cackle and linger for a few moments more before finally making an exit. I blubber as I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I open the stall door. My reflection stares back at me from the bathroom mirror. I’m red, blotchy, and swollen. Black lines of makeup run down my cheeks. Grabbing a handful of paper towels, I quickly wipe at my stained cheeks trying my best to hide the evidence of my breakdown. I don’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of finding me in here like this. Once my face is clean, I straighten my shoulders and march back out onto the balcony and right into Haymitch’s chest.

I rear back, but he grabs my shoulders and fixes me with an annoyed stare. “There you are! I’ve been all over this palatial wasteland looking for you.”

I throw my hands up. My words come out with more attitude than I intend. “Here I am. I need to get back to Peeta.”

Haymitch heads for the stairs, looking back at me over his shoulder. “Yeah, about that. We are getting the hell out of here, sweetheart. The boy’s a mess. That shit stain that calls herself his mother did a number on him.”

I follow closely behind him. “I was there for part of it. What did she say to him after I left.”

He shrugs. “Fuck, if I know. My best guess would be that she just reiterated what a worthless pile of garbage she thinks he is. That usually doesn’t bother him that much because she’s been saying it to him his whole life, but she probably laid into you as well. Now, that is a sure-fire way to set him off. Believe me.”

My brows furrow. I’m tempted to ask Haymitch just exactly what he said about me to Peeta that upset him, but maybe I don’t really want to know. Not tonight anyway. Haymitch leads me through the crowd and back towards the palace’s entrance. We walk quickly past the photographers and fans stationed outside. I keep my head turned towards Haymitch’s shoulder. The last thing I need would be a picture of my tear-streaked face posted all over the nation’s televisions. It’s bad enough people already think I’m defective and not good enough for someone like Peeta. Hell, I’m not sure I disagree.

We reach the car that brought us to the event. The driver opens the door and we crawl inside. Peeta is already seated, his head lowered, cradled in his hands. We drive in silence. He doesn’t look up. I throw a glance at Haymitch who roughly shakes his head, silently telling me to keep my mouth shut, be patient, and above all else, be there for Peeta.

We hurry out of the car and through the apartment doors. Pollux frowns at the sight of us. I give him a small smile and a shake of my head. He nods and smiles back although it doesn’t reach his eyes. Peeta’s fists clench the elevator railing. His frustration and anger mounting with each floor we pass. I surpassed anger over an hour ago. I now have both feet thoroughly planted in loathing and hatred. His mother is lucky I’m weaponless. I wouldn’t kill her. I couldn’t do that to Peeta. I know deep down he loves her. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t inflict as much pain as she’s caused him.

He storms off the elevator and I follow closely behind. He veers to the left into the room that used to comprise of a glossy black piano and now houses his art supplies. Paints, charcoals, pastels, paper, canvases, and easels crowd the room; his talent dominating the space. He prowls the room like a caged animal, trembling and raging as I’ve never witnessed from him before. 

He swipes at the nearest object – a glass jar full of paintbrushes– sending it flying across the room and into the wall. The shattered shards and wooden brushes scatter across the floor. The sound must trigger a memory for him because he looks to me with child-like eyes: wide, frightened, and instantly apologetic. He cowers reflexively, then realizing the impulse, he fists his hair, sinking to the floor on his knees and elbows. A growl of frustration and deep sadness escapes him seeping into my bones and making me want to sink to the floor with him, hold him and help him to forget. But we both know that forgetting isn’t possible. We can only survive and learn to live with it all. The fear, the death, the loss, the pain.

I inch closer to him, sweeping the broken edges of glass aside. I touch his arm first, then his hair and finally I weave my fingers with his. I lay on the hard floor next to his curled-up form. He lifts his head, turning to face me and leaning his tear-stained cheek against the cool surface below. He smiles warily. I smooth my thumb under his eyes, following the dark purple curves that reveal his exhaustion. His lids flutter closed. He inhales and unfurls, moving to his side. My fingers stay interlocked with his and he brings our joined hands in-between us. I wait, silently, patiently. I’ll lay on this floor with him forever if he asks me to.

“I learned how to hold a rolling pin before I could hold a pencil. I was baking full loaves of bread before I started primary school,” he says softly. A gentle smile blooms like a beautiful secret, stretching the contours of his mouth and momentarily erasing the stormy expression that clouds his face. “Some mornings when my father would find me asleep by the fire, he would carry me down to the kitchen with him. I would sit on a stool with his arms around me and he would show me how to knead the dough.”

I smile with him because I have a very similar memory of a boy doing the same thing with me on the first morning we spent together. 

He sobers quickly. “I love…loved my father and I know he loved us, but he often turned a blind eye to my mother’s discipline.”

His mother’s discipline. The bruises and scars, both physical and emotional, that Mrs. Mellark left on her sons were one of the worst kept secrets in Twelve. The baker’s sons were far from the only children in the district to suffer the wrath of an intolerant parent, but I always seemed to notice the fresh bruises, cuts, and burns Peeta so often wore.

Maybe I noticed them more because I noticed _him_ more.

He eyes me cautiously before continuing. “She was my father’s second choice and I think that living with that knowledge made her sad…and angry. Sadness and anger can cause people to do terrible things. Even to people they love.”

The fingers of my free hand brush his cheek. He looks at me with a face so open and honest it's heartbreaking. Who is this boy who can withstand years of abuse and torment only to be able to selflessly see the world through the eyes of his abuser? To sympathize with their plight? 

“But you are her child,” I whisper.

He chews his lip, staring at the intricate lines and patterns of the wood grain on the floor. “I remind her too much of my father. Of that disappointment. I think that sometimes we hurt the ones we love the most because they let us. They take the pain, but still keep loving.”

“I would never hurt my child. Not intentionally. No matter what.”

“I know you wouldn’t.” He grows quiet, hesitant.

His fingers skate across my hip. We watch as they travel along my skin. He used to have these little white lines on the sides and pads of these fingers, blemishes he had gotten from baking. I bring my hand up, palm facing him. He automatically meets it with his own. Our fingers brush.

“I wish they hadn’t taken away our scars,” I say. I wriggle my palm against his. “I had a scar here. I was eight and my father took me out into the woods to hunt with him for the first time. My mother was so nervous. There hadn’t been any real fighting in our district yet, but we could hear the gunfire and bombs in the distance. Remember?” He nods, his eyes darkening with a memory of his own before focusing back on me, waiting for me to continue. “Anyway, I caught a rabbit. I was so excited because my dad made the most delicious rabbit stew. I took off to gather it. I thought I would surprise him, show him how big I was by cleaning the thing myself. The knife slipped, and I sliced my hand. My mother had to stitch it up. I couldn’t hunt with him again for a month. She brought it up with him for the better part of a year. He still let me hunt though. And I got better. He never held me back from doing things I loved. I liked having that scar. It reminded me of him.”

Peeta moves his palm from mine turning his wrist over and holding it up to the light, twisting and staring before bringing the hand back to the ground. I let my hand drop as well. 

“I had one on my wrist. I’m surprised they were able to make that one disappear. It was raised and ugly from a burn that I’ll never forget. It was the first time I truly understood pain.”

I turn his wrist over and brush the spot where the scar used to be with my thumb. “How old were you?”

“Eleven.”

I suck in a breath, hedging and unsure if I want to know. But I ask anyway. “How did you burn yourself?”

“I didn’t. My mother she…held my wrist down on a hot bread pan.” He winces, reliving the memory. 

My thumb stills on his wrist. To my surprise, he looks down at the vacant area that used to hold the scar and smiles sweetly. “I loved that scar. Once the pain faded and it was no longer bandaged, I used to look at it at night when I felt alone or when things got really difficult.”

I frown. “Why did she do it?”

He lifts his gaze to meet mine. “Because I burned the bread. And I didn’t feed it to the pigs.”

“Peeta,” I say, shaken. I knew she had beaten him for it. He’d worn the evidence on his cheek for the next week, but I had no idea she had burned him. No idea he had gone through that much pain for me.

“I would let her do it all over again if it meant that you survived. I cherished that scar because I knew it meant that you and your family were still alive, that you were fighting for them. That you didn’t give up.”

I instantly think of the jagged scar on his side. I worry that his mother did that to him too. I place my hand on his side, over his ribs. “Did she do that to you, too?”

“No,” he chuckles, wryly. “That was Haymitch’s fault.”

I listen with fascination, and a bit of horror, as Peeta tells me that after he enlisted he was shipped to the border between Twelve and Eight to help secure the railway and train refueling station located there. He was put in a platoon under the command of Lieutenant Haymitch Abernathy. Peeta had been shocked because Haymitch was well known in the district for being our only living victor as well as being the town drunk. 

Peeta couldn’t understand how Haymitch could function in someplace as strict as the army; even though it was a rebel army, its leader, President Alma Coin, believed in rules, regulations, and restrictions. Peeta also didn’t know how anyone with half a brain would let Haymitch anywhere near a gun or explosive. The man was damn near flammable with all the alcohol coursing through his veins. Haymitch was brusque, intimidating, and aloof. Peeta made sure to keep his distance, keep his head down and do whatever he was told.

A couple of weeks later Peeta had been assigned to an overnight watch shift when a bombing raid began in the very early hours of the morning. He scrambled to warn everyone, so they could get to as much cover as possible, but he had been unable to find Haymitch. The bombs started raining down, shaking the earth and the rickety structures the platoon was lodged in. Fire lit up the sky and that’s when he caught sight of Haymitch passed out in the doorway of the refueling station's equipment storage building. How the bombing hadn’t woken Haymitch, Peeta didn’t know. But he ran into the building and used his canteen to dump water on Haymitch’s head to wake him. Haymitch was able to get out of the building just as Capitol bombs detonated on the train tracks. The refueling station collapsed as did the storage building next to it. Peeta was pinned under a beam until the bombing ended. A piece of metal from the structure had cut into his side.

“The injury itself wasn’t that bad, but it left a pretty nasty scar,” he says, pushing himself up to a sitting position on the floor. “Haymitch didn’t really let me out of his sight much after that. He said he owed me for saving his life. He called my injury lucky, then eventually started calling me lucky because I always seemed to be in the right place at the right time…until I wasn’t.” He glances down at his leg and shrugs.

He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and begins to pick up the broken pieces of glass from the floor, gathering the sharp edges delicately in his palms. I help him, finding a broom to sweep up the pieces too small to grab with our fingers. Once we’ve finished, we move to the living room. Peeta lights a fire. I sink into the couch cushions, pulling my knees to my chest. I keep going over what he told me in my head. How he sustained a beating and being burned for me. Why would he do that? He didn’t even know me. We had shared some classes in school, but he was popular and well-liked among all the town kids and I was a quiet, coal dust-covered, scrawny Seam girl. Then, when the mine collapsed, and the school closed it was over a year before I saw him again. It didn’t make sense. Haymitch’s voice suddenly echoes in my mind telling me that Peeta has been in love with me for years. 

My head snaps up. “Why would you do that?” I breathe.

Confused, Peeta turns to me from his place by the fire. “Rescue Haymitch?”

“No. Take a beating and abuse for me. Why?”

He exhales and looks back at the flames. “I wish I could’ve done more. I saw you and Prim growing thinner and weaker. I watched how you struggled. I should have done something sooner.”

“We were eleven,” I say as if that explains everything. “We were children.”

“And I already knew I loved you then. It was torture standing idly by while you suffered. I would gladly take a thousand burns and beatings if it meant keeping you alive.”

I don’t know how to respond. This is the first time he has openly said that he loves me and that he’s loved me since we were children. It’s not as if some part of me didn’t already know. Haymitch has told me, Prim has hinted, even Gale knew. But hearing it come directly from Peeta steals my breath and makes my heart race. 

“Peeta,” I say breathless and unsure.

He holds his hand up and gives me a small smile, ducking his chin. “It’s okay, Katniss. I didn’t tell you so you would feel like you had to say it back. I want you to say it because you mean it because you feel it. But I’m glad that I said it. I’m glad you know.”

His words blanket me in an intense sorrow. I wish I were the type of girl that could give herself over to the idea and the feelings of love. I want more than anything to crawl across the floor to him, take his face in my hands and say the words I know he longs to hear. Fear and uncertainty keep me firmly planted on the couch. I would be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that I care for Peeta. I care about him so profoundly that I can’t imagine not being here with him in this moment, but I don’t know if I can give myself over to the idea of loving someone so completely and fully that I wouldn’t be able to recover if I lost them. I already have Prim for that and I didn’t have a choice in my love for her. It’s built into me. Into my very blood and bones. Loss is all I know, so I’m already prepared for the day that I lose Peeta, just like I’ve lost everyone else. 

He stretches his legs out in front of him, resting his back on the bottom of the couch. His eyes are glued to the fire watching the embers and flames dance to life. He absently rubs the seam of his prosthesis, his mind elsewhere. He has that far-off look that I’ve seen from him before, the same look I’ve witnessed in others who fought in the war. I wonder if my mother would get that same look if she had survived. I wonder what she was like in combat. Did it wake her up? Did it make her feel alive? Did she forget how much she missed my father? I wonder what she would think about the decisions I’ve made.

“What was my mother like? On Hawk Ridge?” I ask because at this moment I desperately need to know. 

Peeta blinks and tenses, turning away from the flames and focusing on his leg. His voice is clipped. “We were outnumbered and even though we had the advantage of terrain with the ridge allowing us to see far into the valley below, the number of Peacekeepers arriving on foot, in tanks, and by hovercraft was at least three times what we were expecting. At least, that’s what Haymitch kept yelling as he called for backup from Thirteen. He was sure it was going to be a slaughter. He was desperate. He told them we needed hovercrafts and heavy artillery. 

“We hid in the tree line and watched them move in. It wasn’t the first battle I had been in, but it was the largest. I had never seen so many people converge in one place. I didn’t even know there were that many people in Panem. I remember the quiet. The silence was deafening. I think even the wildlife knew not to make a sound. Then, within an instant, the silence became a cacophony of noise. So much noise. Bombs exploded, bullets fired, trees cracked in two, people screamed, people choked, people wept, people died. 

“In the midst of all of that, I could hear people yelling for medics. There were doctors and nurses of all kinds from many districts on the ridge with us. I didn’t know your mother was there until I caught a flash of her hair as she ran past me. I remember not being able to move when I saw her. All I could think about was that she shouldn’t be there. She needed to be home with you and Prim. Someone grabbed my arm and forced me forward. We were advancing on them. The hovercrafts from Thirteen had arrived and we were gaining ground. 

“We fought our way through the trees. The person – I don’t know their name…I wish I knew their name – beside me grunted and fell to the ground. They had been shot in the stomach. I flipped them over to put pressure on the wound and that’s when it happened. Fire tore through my skin. I lost my balance and tripped, falling on top of the person who had been shot. My leg burned. I fought the urge to throw up. It was so much more intense than when my mother put my wrist to the pan or any beating I’d ever gotten. But it was just my leg and the person beside me was bleeding so much. I ignored the pain and leaned all my weight into the wound on their stomach. I screamed for a medic, but we had made it quite a long way down the ridge by that time and it was hard for the medics to get down to us quickly. 

“I held their hand and we waited. We watched the bits of the sky we could see through the trees. It was a clear day, a sunny day. A day not made for death. I remember the exact moment they died. Their grip flex against my fingers, then loosened. I didn’t let go. I couldn’t. I kept waiting. That’s when she found us.

“’My name is Violet. Are you injured?’ she asked.” 

“She pulled me off of the dead body and turned me onto my back. Bombs and gunfire still reverberated around us. She had a streak of blood on her cheek, but her eyes were so kind. They were the same type of blue as my mother’s, soft like an early morning sky with a hint of green. I had never seen kindness reflected in that color before. I kept staring at her eyes. She kept repeating my name. I was stunned that she even knew who I was. I couldn’t speak. My body was shaking. I was so cold. 

“She moved her hands all over me looking for an injury. My face and hands were wet. I remember holding my hands up and they were covered in someone else’s blood. The ground was saturated with it. I was lying in a pool. The smell was potent and tangy, like rusted iron. Then, her hands began to fumble with my belt. I didn’t know what was happening. I tried to bat her hands away. She grabbed both of mine and looked me in the eyes and said, “’You saved us once. You saved my girls. Let me save you.’

“She pulled off my belt and wrapped it around my leg. She tightened it with a strength I still don’t know how she mustered. The pain, Katniss. It was unlike anything. I don’t even know how to describe it. After she finished with my leg, she crawled back up to my head and wiped some of the blood and dirt from my face with her shirt. People were screaming for help in the background. They needed her, but she kept looking at me. There was so much sincerity in her eyes. 

“’You’re going to lose your leg,’ she said. ‘You’ve lost too much blood. I had to stop the bleeding, or you would die.’

“She pulled a syringe out of a pack around her waist and jabbed it into my arm. It was morphling. Suddenly, I was floating and being pulled under at the same time. Her thumb brushed my cheek. She yelled to someone behind us that I needed to be evacuated. As I was losing consciousness, I remember her lips against my ear and she told me that she had seen the way I looked at you. That she knew that look. She missed that look. She would give anything to see that look again reflected in the eyes of the man she loves. She told me to go home, to look after you because you would be too busy looking after everyone else. She said to love you and to be patient.

“I’ve thought about those words a lot. It was almost like she knew she wasn’t leaving that ridge alive. She knew she would never come home.”

Peeta pauses, looking up from his leg. Fresh tears glisten on his cheeks. “I woke up in a field hospital about a mile from the ridge. My leg was gone, and she was gone. They told me she had died shortly after I was evacuated. Peacekeepers had made it up to that particular section of the tree line. Nearly everyone there had died. I – I can’t help b – but…fuck.”

He curls his knees up to his chest, burying his face behind his arms, his shoulders quaking with sobs. I can’t take it. I sink to the floor and pull him against my chest. 

“I can’t h – help but b – blame myself,” he whimpers. “If she hadn’t of st – stopped for me, she might still b – be alive.”

I shush him, stroking his back until his sobs start to subside. “You don’t know that,” I say into his hair. “If she hadn’t stopped, you would be dead, and she may have died anyway.”

He sags against me, releasing shaky, shuddering breaths that slowly begin to even out. He’s quiet for a long time before he pulls himself up. His sapphire orbs burning into mine.

“When I got home, I was so ashamed. I couldn’t bring myself to look at you, let alone take care of you as she asked me to. I never stopped loving you though. I had just resigned myself to the fact that I would love you from a distance because facing you and the reality of what I had done was too painful. But, then, there you were in the Justice Building. It was like a cruel twist of fate and I hated it at first until I thought about it a little more. It dawned on me that maybe, somehow, your mother had been involved in pushing us together. I don’t know if we would have ended up here on our own.”

He runs his fingers through the ends of my hair. “I’m so sorry, Katniss. Every time I look at my leg, it reminds me of her and what I took from you.”

My heart twists, clenching in my chest. His pain and his unnecessary guilt tear at every last brick of the wall I’ve built around myself, the wall I’ve tried in vain to keep him from breaching. My heart is left unguarded now. It’s his. Maybe it always has been. I press a finger to his lips, quieting him. “Every time I look at your leg, I see what she saved. What she gave me. What she gave Prim. She gave us you.”

I press my lips to his, tasting the salt of his tears as they mingle with my own. His arms wrap around me. I climb into his lap and hold him close. That’s when I feel it. It creeps up on me and thunders into my soul. Three words perch on my lips, waiting to be said. They interlace with every part of me. I feel it from the tips of my hair to the tips of my toes. I’m in love with Peeta Mellark. I inhale his scent and hold tight. I never want to let go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how I feel about this chapter. What did you think?
> 
> It was emotionally draining to write. I had computer issues halfway through that made me start from nearly the beginning again AND a three-year-old that has decided she doesn't need to take a nap anymore (cutting into my precious writing time). So, I apologize profusely for any typos you find. 
> 
> I hope you liked Peeta's backstory, meeting Finnick, and the reveal of Katniss's feelings.
> 
> I appreciate you all so much!
> 
> You can find me on IG: isarnicole_everlark_fanfics


	8. Chapter 8

_I love him._

_I’m in love with him._

_Oh, shit._

_I’m defective. I’m not right for him._

_They’re going to replace me. They’ll partner him with someone else, someone better._

_I’m going to lose him. I can’t lose him. Not now._

I can’t stop my mind from spinning. Nausea pools in my stomach. I shiver against the breeze. Spring has arrived, but it’s still too cold to be out here in the dark in only panties and Peeta’s t-shirt. Though, I need this place more than anything tonight. My own private escape. My small slice of wilderness in the sky. 

I shouldn’t have left Peeta alone in bed, not after the night we had and all the memories that bubbled to the surface. He is bound to be trapped by nightmares. Still, I couldn’t sleep, and he looked so peaceful. I need the fresh air. I need the cold and the quiet. I need to think.

I sink to the grass beside the oak sapling. It’s grown much too large now for the pot it was gifted in, but still far from the looming stature of its deciduous brothers and sisters. Chilly morning dew coats my bare limbs causing goosebumps to forge a path across my skin.

“Katniss?”

Prim stands in the doorway with two steaming mugs and a blanket in her hands.

She moves across the stone walkway to the grassy knoll and the young tree. She hands me a mug. The smell of chamomile and mint invade my nostrils. She throws the blanket over my shoulder. “You’re going to freeze to death up here dressed like that,” she chastises. 

I open the blanket wide and she slides in next to me, pulling the blanket tight over her shoulder. “You should be sleeping. I didn’t mean to wake you,” I whisper, leaning my temple against hers.

“You didn’t. It’s hard to sleep sometimes. I got up to write Rory a letter and I heard you come up here.”

I nod, understanding that completely. Prim had been at the hospital when we arrived home from the award ceremony. She devotes nearly all of her free time to her volunteer position there. She loves the doctors, nurses, patients, and staff. She beams when she talks about them.

We sit in silence, huddled together under the blanket, sipping our tea and looking out at the city lights and shadowy mountains in the distance. Finally, Prim drums her fingers against her mug, giving in to her mounting curiosity.

“Are you going to tell me what happened or am I going to have to pry it out of you?” she asks, her shoulder bumping against mine.

I slump forward, cradling the tea. She knows me too well. I tell her everything. I tell her about Mrs. Mellark and Peeta’s reaction. I tell her about the women in the bathroom. I tell her what Peeta told me about his abuse, his time in the army, and our mother. An errant tear escapes from under her lid. It runs down her cheek. She doesn’t make a move to wipe it away. 

She looks at me and smiles. “Mama confided in me that she hated the war, but she loved taking care of the soldiers. She didn’t like seeing them injured, but she said that being of use, being needed in that way made her feel more alive than she had felt in years. I like to think that she didn’t mind dying on the ridge because she would be with daddy again.” She’s quiet for a moment before her smile grows wider. “I love that she saved Peeta. I didn’t know that part. I know she kept an eye on him and his brothers…for their father.”

My brows wrinkle, confused. 

She rolls her eyes and chuckles. “Sometimes I forget that you never paid any attention to the gossip. Peeta’s father and mama were together before she met daddy. People thought they would be married.” She giggles. “Can you imagine?

No. I can’t imagine. I never pictured my parents with anyone but each other. There were so desperately in love that the thought of that love going to someone else has no rational place in my mind. Then, I remember Peeta telling me that his mother was his father’s second choice. Suddenly, the clouds lift allowing me to see things more clearly. The hate and anger his mother projected towards me, towards her son for loving me and for being just like his father.

I kick beads of water from the blades of grass with my frosty toes and retreat closer to Prim under the blanket. “They’re going to replace me,” I mumble against her shoulder. “They’re going to find someone else for Peeta. People think I’m defective. That I can’t bear children. They’re getting antsy for it to happen.” My voice cracks. “I’m going to lose him.” 

Prim shifts under the blanket to face me, her eyes skipping all over my face in question. “You love him,” she states. She doesn’t ask because she doesn’t need an answer. She can see it. Her lips quirk up. Her eyes brighten. “I love him too. Not, like you, of course. He’s like the brother I never knew I wanted or needed. I can’t imagine our life without him now.” She exhales, her face growing serious. “He’s in love with you, Katniss. He’d never allow them to partner him with someone else. You are so much more than a contract to him.”

“He may not have a choice. They want me to be pregnant.” 

Prim rolls her eyes as if we are talking about something frivolous and absurd. “You aren’t defective. We were starving to death only six months ago. It will take time for your body to heal and things may never be completely normal for either of you. That doesn’t mean there is anything wrong or that you’re broken. They’re just being impatient.” She cocks an eyebrow and lifts her tea mug to hide the grin stretching across her lips. “Besides, judging by the frequency and…enthusiasm of when you two are together, I would be surprised if you aren’t pregnant soon.”

I want to melt into the grass from mortification. It feels like my whole body is blushing. I cover my face with my forearms and groan. Prim giggles into her tea. I peek at her through my fingers and start giggling too. I know that Peeta and I can get carried away, but we have always tried to keep quiet or wait until we have the apartment to ourselves. I hope she hasn’t inadvertently seen something like Haymitch did. I may actually die from embarrassment at that. I shoot her a look of horror and she throws her head back in laughter.

“Don’t worry! I haven’t seen anything. I’ve just heard some things when I’ve come home early or when I can’t sleep at night.”

I don’t think my skin can turn any more crimson.

Prim bumps my shoulder, trying her best to stifle her laughter. “It’s okay, Katniss. I’m happy for you. Truly. He’s loved you for a long time and I was worried that you would never know love like that. The fact that you do makes me happy. You give so much to others. I didn’t want you to end up lonely and alone.”

We go quiet, our giggles drifting away on the chilly night air. After a while, Prim leans her head on my shoulder and yawns. I kiss her forehead and we gather up the blanket to head back into the apartment. Before we reach the doorway, she stops and turns to me. 

“You’re enough for him. I know you doubt it because I’ve seen the way you look at him like you can’t believe he’s real. But he’s not perfect. He’s broken, scarred, and flawed just like you. Just like me. Just like nearly everyone. As long as you let him in there – “ she taps on my chest, “ – you aren’t going to lose him. He’ll never let them replace you.”

She turns and takes the stairs back down into the warmth of the apartment leaving me standing astonished in the cold night air wondering what happened to the romance novel obsessed little girl I used to know.

* * *

I never thought we would be here again so soon. The chrome exterior of the train gleams in the sunlight, the rays bouncing off the surface causing me to shield my eyes. Peeta and I were given one week of peace and solitude after the award ceremony. We haven’t had that many days to ourselves in months. I’m not sure who to thank for that – probably Haymitch. 

Once the week ended we were shocked with Plutarch’s newest idea. He announced that we would be doing a tour of the nation. We would visit each of the districts. We would stay for a day in each to meet with the citizens, promote the lottery, and quell any growing rumors about the fallacy of our relationship. Plutarch said it would be reminiscent of the Victory Tour that the victors of the Hunger Games used to do. He said that the districts loved them, but I was old enough during the last one to remember things differently.

I remember huddling close to my parents, penned in amongst all the residents of Twelve in the freezing winter air, and being jealous that Prim was small enough that she could be carried instead of having to stand in too-small shoes and ankle-deep snow. I remember the dull, vacant stares on the older adults and the fiery, angry ones on the those new to adulthood and parenthood. Looks of envy, disgust, and pity floated through the crowd too. I remember a beautiful person with haunted eyes taking the same stage we used for the Reaping each year. The person smiled and said meaningless words about duty and honor. A polite and forced applause drifted through the crowd. Then, a party with more food than I had ever seen took place at the mayor’s mansion. I remember wondering who got to go to the party. Was it everyone from town? Was it just Peacekeepers and people in more official positions? Did anyone from the Seam ever get to go? Would I ever get to have a party like that?

I can’t imagine that district residents will be any more receptive to our arrival than they were to that of a victor. From what I’ve seen, most people just want to be left alone to live a quiet life without being coerced into fake pageantry and participation. Maybe it will be different this time. Many people in the districts fought for the rebellion, they have respect for the new government and President Paylor. They want Panem to thrive and are willing to do their part. Maybe they won’t look at us with disdain like they used to do with others. That doesn’t mean I’m any less worried or anxious.

Before agreeing to the tour, I make a list of demands which I’m surprised Plutarch easily agrees to: 

There will be no forced speeches. If Peeta and I are to speak, let us use our own words. Let us listen and answer questions. 

We get several hours in each district when we aren’t on camera. I want the people to see us and interact with us without cameras in their faces. I want them to know we are real and not a Capitol creation. I also want any fraction of privacy we can get. 

Prim gets to travel with us. Luckily, this trip nearly coincides with the Spring Equinox holiday in which Prim is out of school for several weeks. The only thing she will miss is her shifts at the hospital, but she’s so excited at the prospect of seeing home and Rory again that she doesn’t even hesitate to accept the invitation to come. 

Finally, any festivities associated with the tour will be open to all district residents. There will be no closed parties only accessible to a select few, no little girls who wish they could know what it is like to be a part of the celebration.

On the platform at the train’s entrance, Peeta’s hand slips against my palm. His fingers weave through mine and squeeze gently, a reminder to smile for the cameras. He waves to the crowd with his free hand. The Capitol smile is painted on his face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Effie’s hands fall on our shoulders directing us onto the train. Our smiles stay put until the door closes, then we sag against the walls.

Peeta’s fingers slip from mine. He passes by me without a word, his eyes downturned. I deserve that. I’ve been distant, hesitant. No matter how much I want to believe Prim’s words, I’m still certain I’m going to lose him. He’s going to vanish from my life as nearly everyone else has. And, I’m so desperately in love with him that the simple thought of losing him makes my stomach churn. I want to hold him close and push him away at the same time. Keeping him at a distance both physically and emotionally feels like the only way to protect me and to keep my bruised heart from being broken completely. 

I’m so torn on what to say and how to act that I’ve been avoiding him. And the timing couldn’t be worse. Since the award ceremony, he’s been plagued with nightmares that have only gotten worse with my avoidance. He’s barely eating and hardly sleeping. I’ve caught the stern looks Prim has thrown my way. She’s upset with me. She doesn’t understand and thinks I’m overreacting, but she’s isn’t the one who hears the whispers and sees the looks from the people who have the power to end this, to force Peeta and me apart. 

I’m selfish and terrible. I’m breaking him, I know it. I’m exactly what his mother and the gossips of the Capitol said I am. I’m not right for him. He’s too good for a wild thing like me.

I slip through the dining car and past the three sets of eyes watching me from the table. I’m not hungry. I feel sick. I’m so angry at myself that the world seems to tilt making me grasp the wall for balance. My head feels foggy and my heart clinches like it’s gripped by a vice. I could scream. Or cry. Or both.

I stomp down the corridor and slam into the obnoxiously opulent room at the end of the hall. I throw myself into the shower, not bothering with getting undressed, and let the water beat down on me. Then, I unleash. I pour out every frustration and fear, every confusion and doubt, every ounce of self-loathing until my throat and eyes are raw.

I crawl from the shower, water puddling beneath my palms from my soaked clothes, and vomit in the toilet. I’m a mess. I don’t recognize who I’ve become. The more I fight my feelings, the worse I feel. But I’m not sure I’ll survive giving in to them and losing him. I curl up on the floor. I can’t wait to get back home. To feel my bow in my hands and smell the crisp, pine-filled, spring air. To climb a tree or trek to the lake and feel like nothing’s changed, even though everything has.

Eventually, I lift myself up off the sodden floor and pull my clinging clothes from my body. Wrapping a robe around my frame, I step into the bedroom fully intent on burying myself under the goose down of the shimmering green duvet that covers the bed. The clinking of ice in a glass nearly makes me jump out of my skin, my hunter’s reflexes causing me to crouch in a low defensive pose. 

Haymitch is slumped in the corner of the couch with his feet propped up on the tufted ottoman. He wiggles his fingers at me in greeting.

“You scared me to death, Haymitch. Damn you,” I breathe, pulling myself back up to standing and securing the robe tighter around my body. 

“I was worried you were going to walk out of that bathroom naked and scare _me_ to death. I’ve already been through accidentally seeing you naked once. Don’t know if I’ll make it through that again. But, I ran the risk because we need to have a talk…in private.”

“I really just want to sleep, Haymitch. I’m so tired.”

Haymitch ignores my request, dropping his feet from the ottoman and sitting up straighter. “The boy is patient, more patient than anyone I’ve ever known, but that patience isn’t infinite, sweetheart.”

I sigh, sinking down on the edge of the bed. I don’t want to have this conversation right now, so I feign ignorance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit.”

I keep my mouth shut but don’t shy away from his disappointed stare. Besides, I don’t feel like spilling my guts to him when I already spilled them all over the shower and bathroom tile. 

He huffs, reclining back into the sofa once more. “Fine. You don’t want to hash out all the nitty, gritty details. I get that. I’m confused though. One minute I’m catching you two naked on the couch and the next you can barely look at each other. The boy is surprisingly tight-lipped other than to tell me that his mother had some ignorant comments about “Seam trash” and that he told you about his run-in with your mother on Hawk Ridge.” 

He pauses, waiting for me to speak. When I remain silent, he continues. “Now, I don’t take you for someone to give a shit about all that “Seam trash” nonsense. Everyone in Twelve is poor. Some are just poorer than others.”

“You’re not,” I say pointedly.

He inhales deeply, throwing back the remainder of the liquid in his glass. “That’s true. But I earned every single cent of that money through my own blood, sweat, and tears. Make no mistake about that.”

I nod and finally drop his gaze. I’m ashamed. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to be thrown into the games, to be torn from your home and your family knowing that you were undoubtedly going to die. And what kind of price you have to pay to win. I also can’t imagine the toll it would take on someone to be a mentor to two people, to put your all into helping them only to lose them year after year. 

“Let’s stop fucking around,” Haymitch says around the ice cube in his mouth. “Out with it. I can’t help fix this if neither of you is willing to talk to me.”

I groan and stare at my toes as they run through the high pile of the carpeted floor. This is an awkward and uncomfortable conversation to have with my sister let alone Haymitch. I don’t know where to start, how much to divulge and what to omit to avoid his teasing.

He sits forward and tilts his head, studying me for a long moment. Then, he chuckles under his breath and plucks another ice cube from his cup. “You’ve finally realized it, huh?”

My head snaps up. I stay silent. He sets his glass on the floor. “I was reaped when I was sixteen. It was the second Quarter Quell, which meant that it needed to be even more of a spectacle than the usual games. That year they decided that they would double the number of tributes that went into the arena. There were forty-seven children sentenced to death that year. Forty-seven lives that I had a hand in ending, one way or another. I got lucky and was saved by a girl from our district named Maysilee Donner. We form an alliance for a little while…but, she died shortly after that. I couldn’t save her like she’d saved me. The only thing I could do was hold her hand, so she didn’t die alone.”

His head swung back and forth like he was liberating himself of the memory. “Anyway, I found a flaw in the arena and figured out how to use it to my advantage making me the winner. I came home to my mother, brother, and my girl. I was a stitched-up disaster full of nightmares and guilt, but my girl never wavered. We couldn’t believe that I had made it home and that we would be able to be together. I loved her. There was no denying that. Anyone could see it. My love for her shone off of me like a fucking flashing beacon. Want to know the best part? She loved me too. A lot of people were scared of me or didn’t know what to do with me when I got back home, but not her. She couldn’t care less about what anyone else had to say. She wanted me. All of me. Every scar, every nightmare, every ounce of guilt. 

“I thought I was smart, and I guess for a sixteen-year-old I was, but I wasn’t smart enough. You see, I needed to pay for making the Capitol look foolish. No one made them look foolish. And all that love that shone off of me made my family and my girl the number one target for my repentance. Two weeks after I returned home, they were gone. All of them. Evaporated from my life like they never happened.”

His eyes soften and he smiles. “I’m telling you this because even knowing what I know now, knowing that she would be taken from me, I wouldn’t trade a day I spent with her. Losing is hard. I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know. But loving, and being loved, there’s nothing better than that. It’s worth all the pain.”

“Haymitch,” I whisper, reaching a hand out to him.

He swats it away, picking up his empty glass and standing from his seat. “I didn’t tell you any of that for your sympathy. I told you, so you could see that you are thinking about this the wrong way. Don’t be afraid to love him even if you’re afraid to lose him because you are doing nothing but fucking yourself over. You are cheating yourself and hurting him. It’s doing nobody any good. And it’s giving me a headache. Just get your head out of your ass and let yourself love the boy.”

He walks out of the room without another word, leaving me stunned on the end of the bed. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard that many words from Haymitch at once before. I’ve never heard him talk about his time in the games.

I lay back on the bed, letting my legs dangle over the edge, my toes still buried in the deep carpet fibers. I think about Haymitch, about his girl, about his family, about the kids that he’s watched die, and about how much he has lost. I understand why he drinks now. That pain would be unbearable to live with sober. 

I know he’s angry with me and disappointed that I’m on the verge of squandering a life and a love he wishes he had. The problem is it’s a life I never thought possible. A life I never dreamed of. A life I never wanted…until now. And all the possibilities that follow scare the hell out of me. Every single one. The possibility of a life with Peeta, with our children and Prim growing to her fullest potential. I don’t even know what a life like that feels like, tastes like, looks like. Then, there’s the possibility of a life without Peeta. A life in which Prim still gets to follow her dream, but that leaves me alone with only the memory of a life and a love I almost had within my reach. It leaves me like Haymitch: surly, bitter, sad, and self-medicating against the pain.

The muted colors of sunset burn through the windowed wall, drenching the bed in the fading light. We’ll be in One in only a few hours, although we won’t depart the train until morning. I lift my feet onto the bed and curl up on my side to watch the sun dip behind the mountains. I’m so tired. Tired of acting, tired of fighting, tired of worrying. Always constantly worrying. I think of my mother’s words, Prim’s words, and Haymitch’s words. I marvel at how the three of them know me so well when I don’t feel like I know myself. In one way or another, they had all told Peeta to be patient, to give me time because I would be too busy clawing my way through this life, always trying to find the best way to survive, to allow myself the freedom to have a selfish moment. They all knew that giving myself over to love wouldn’t come easy. 

The purples, blues, and blacks of nightfall consume the room. My eyelids droop. I should get up and get something to eat, but I’m not ready to face any of them yet. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I won’t be so tired. My stomach won’t be in knots. Tomorrow I’ll know what to do. I let my eyes shut and let the train rock me to sleep.

* * *

_I’m hunting, crouched low behind a thicket of branches when a doe ambles into my line of sight. I reach for an arrow from my quiver when the doe turns, and two fawns stumble through an opening in the trees. The doe nuzzles the babies and the group meanders past where I stand undetected. I follow them, no longer in the mood to hunt. A fascination I don’t understand pushes my feet along the path. We continue this way for several minutes – or several hours, it’s hard to tell – until we come to the edge of a cliff. The doe stops and turns, her glassy, black eyes staring directly into mine. Her ears perk and twitch, then she directs her gaze upward as two mockingjays barrel roll across the sky. I lift my head, squinting against the sun to watch the birds. My father had always loved the mockingjays and would often sing with them while lounging by the lake. What I wouldn’t give to hear his voice one more time._

_The sound of falling rocks steers my attention back to the deer. The doe has wandered precariously close to the cliff's edge, the fawns matching her step for step. I start to move closer, reaching out my hand to stop them. The doe pauses at the edge looks to me one more time and throws herself over the cliff. The fawns dutifully follow her._

I jolt awake with a gasp. I’m still in my robe, still at the end of the bed, and still very much alone. The bed is meticulously made – aside from the few wrinkles where I’ve slept – and there is no sign that Peeta has even stepped foot in the room. The sun has already risen above the mountains. The rays shining down on a field so green it doesn’t look real. District One sits in an enormous valley. Two-story clapboard houses line the streets in tidy rows surrounded by perfectly manicured lawns and white picket fences. The homes are brightly colored, painted in sapphire blues, ruby reds, emerald greens, and citrine yellows. The town square features a grand fountain depicting glittering gemstones and diamonds. Businesses erected out of smooth, white granite jut out from the square with welcoming signs, clean, straight sidewalks, and entrances made of glass and wrought iron. The district isn’t as luxurious as the Capitol, but it’s close.

I rip off the robe and pull on the first outfit I find in the closet – a pair of shimmering black knit pants and a dark green long sleeve tunic – before brushing my teeth and threading my hair in a braid. With the picture of that doe in my mind and Haymitch’s words still ringing in my ears, I hurry to the dining car hoping to find Peeta at the table. When I burst through the door, the only one there to greet me is Prim. She smiles and pats the seat next to her.

I sit and immediately start shoving food into my mouth. I’m ravenous. Between the stress and anxiety of the past week, I’ve barely had a full meal each day. My stomach has been borderline queasy, if not downright nauseous, but this morning I have a clearer head and a healthy appetite. Prim watches me with amusement, her lips grinning around her spoonful of oats and berries. 

“Where is everyone else?” I ask, covering my mouthful of food with my hand.

“Haymitch just went to bed a few minutes before you came in. Effie left to speak with the district mayor and Peeta left early this morning. I only caught a glimpse of him stepping off the train when I came out of my room.”

“Did the camera crew go with him?”

She shakes her head. “They haven’t been in for breakfast yet. It was barely dawn when he left.”

I sit back in my chair. According to Effie’s tight schedule, we are supposed to do an on-camera tour of the district in a little over an hour. 

“Didn’t he tell you where he was going?” Prim asks

She doesn't know that Peeta and I didn’t share a room last night. I’m saved from answering her as a commotion in the hallway spills through the door into the dining car and the camera crew and both prep teams enter the room.

The table fills with hungry, half-awake bodies and the room fills with the noise of cutlery on plates and low murmured chatter. Effie scurries through the door reprimanding everyone about sleeping in and sticking to the schedule. The Trio downs their coffee and rips me out of the room and down the corridor before I have a chance to ask Effie about Peeta. As I’m scrubbed and polished, I listen to the Trio’s excited prattle about getting to tour the districts and how they already miss the noise of the city. I can’t get a word in edgewise.

They leave as Cinna enters to help me get dressed. He eyes me thoughtfully, pulling a loose-fitting blouse over my head and pairing it with neutral fitted pants and boots that lace up my calves. He pulls my hair back from my face securing it with a diamond-studded clip that I’m sure is more for the benefit of this bejeweled district than anyone else. He pinches my chin between his thumb and forefinger and nods his approval.

“If only I could do something about all the worry in those molten eyes, Fire Girl,” he says with a sigh. 

“I’m worried about Peeta. Do you know where he is?” I ask, withholding all the other worries I carry. That list could traverse this district. 

“He’s with Portia and his team in another room. He rushed through the train doors about twenty minutes ago, much to Effie’s dismay. I would say that it shouldn’t take Portia long to get him ready, but he looked like he hasn’t slept in weeks.” Cinna taps my nose with a joking smile. “What have you been doing to that boy?”

Maybe it’s because it’s Cinna and he’s a friend, or maybe it’s because he’s never wanted anything from me and sees me for exactly who I am. But every worry, every anxiety, every single thing tumbles out of my mouth. Cinna purses his lips. He nods. He listens. He doesn’t say anything until I’ve said it all. He grows quiet, pensive. He fusses with my hair.

He stands behind me, his face peering at me through the mirror from over my shoulder. “There’s little people take for granted in life more than love. You would think that would be different, especially now, especially after everything that everyone has lost, but it’s not. I see it every day.” He walks around to face me, cupping my cheeks with his soft hands. “It’s not fair what his mother said about you or what anyone who doesn’t really know you says about you. But if you love him, then let yourself love him. Life is far too short. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Don’t allow doubt about what could happen shadow what you can experience with him if you allow it.”

I smirk. “Haymitch said nearly the same thing.”

A soft, sad smile tugs at Cinna’s lips. “Haymitch is right. I’ve known him a long time and while we’ve all suffered, he is one of a few who knows loss and regret on a scale that most of us will never understand. Don’t let fear put out your fire, Katniss. Don’t let it ruin your chance at something lasting and real. Not everyone gets the chance for that.”

He’s right. I’ve been selfish. I’ve been a fool. And I’ve broken Peeta’s heart in the process. I wrap my arms around Cinna. He pulls me into his embrace then kisses me lightly on the forehead before leading me out the door to meet Peeta and Effie. The train door slides open. Peeta’s fingers slide against mine. He grips my hand and we both throw on our best Capitol smiles.

* * *

We are taken on a tour of the district: the gem mines, the luxury fabric factories, the jewelers, the perfectly paved streets with their perfectly manicured foliage and brightly colored buildings. It’s like standing in the middle of a gumdrop, bracketed by distant mountain ranges and teeming with nature. 

We visit the school where children used to train and volunteer for the Hunger Games. Everything looks too well-kept, too serene, too untouched by war. It’s surreal. When we ask about the population of the district and whether they lost many people in the war, the mayor avoids the questions, darting his eyes from our faces and having the decency to look ashamed.

It’s not surprising. This district didn’t have many items of importance or use for the rebellion and its placement within the valley made it too vulnerable. The Capitol could easily attack therefore it held no strategic value. However, its close ties with the Capitol and its well-trained and lethal surplus of children meant that citizens were pulled from the population in order to add to the number of men and women in the Capitol’s Peacekeeper army. So, while they have known loss, it’s nothing compared to the scale of devastation in other districts.

When the tour concludes, the cameras stop filming – as promised – and we are given a few hours to mingle with the district citizens and walk around the district on our own. A few people stop and ask us for a photograph, but mostly, they give us a wide berth. They stare, they whisper, but they don’t approach. We’re an oddity to them. Two people thrown together by fate and contractual obligation, but mostly, when they look at us they see two people from an outlying district. No matter how much our prep teams polish us, the coal dust and dirt of Twelve will still shine through. So, the people of One enjoy the show and the festival atmosphere that it brings, but I don’t miss the looks of disdain that are pointed in our direction.

We wave to the crowd from the train platform, smiling broadly for the cameras as the train door swoops close and we lurch forward towards the next district. Peeta drops his smile and my hand, but I grapple for his fingers, catching the tips in my palm. He turns, his eyes finally looking – really looking – into mine for the first time in days. I’m exhausted. I’m starving. My cheeks hurt from smiling. But above all that, I’m desperate for him. I crave his voice, his laugh, his touch. I can’t stand that I’ve hurt him, but I need him to understand. 

Telling Effie that we are changing for dinner, I pull Peeta through the corridor and into our room. The soft thud of the door closing surrounds us. I drop his hand and take a few steps back. I need the physical distance to get my words in order. Being close to him makes me want to touch him and touching him leads to me using actions and not words. I need to use my words, my voice. I think he needs to hear them too. 

I pace. He stands by the door and shoves his hands in his pockets. His blue eyes following me around the room. 

“Katniss,” he begins, his voice apologetic and laced with remorse. “I’m sor –“

“ – No!” I practically yell, cutting him off. I take a breath and continue, my voice quieter. “Please don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry about. I’ve been moody and distant. I purposefully ignored you when you’ve needed me. It was cruel. I was wrong. I’m sorry.” 

My feet still. He moves closer to me, his hands escaping the confines of his pockets. He reaches for me, but I move away. There’s more I need to say. I have no idea where to begin.

“You didn’t sleep here last night,” I state.

He tilts his head in confusion, then shakes it. “No, I couldn’t sleep. I stayed up with Haymitch. We watched televis – “

“ – I’m in love with you. I love you,” I blurt, my pulse racing. 

He stares at me, mouth agape, eyes unblinking. His irises darken. His tongue darts out, wetting his parted lips. He stalks toward me, crossing the divide in two steps. His fingers tangle into the hair at the base of my skull and his lips crash into mine. I cling to him, wrecking the front of his shirt with my fists. After days of avoidance, I can’t get close enough. I’ve missed his taste. I’ve missed the soft noises he makes when our tongues meet. Our heads slant, deepening the kiss. Our mouths and tongues and hands taking and giving. Then, just as quickly as he swooped in, he pulls back. Heavy breaths caress my chin. His nose brushing mine. I open my eyes to find his still closed, but I watch as the most brilliant smile lights up his entire face.

“Say it again,” he murmurs with a hint of disbelief.

Warmth pools in my chest stretching out to every part of me. I match his smile. “I love you.” 

He opens his eyes and I’m drowning in blue.

“You love me,” he whispers, his lips coasting across mine. 

I bob my head. He chuckles, sweeping me into another kiss. I am lost and found all at once. Everything that Prim, Haymitch, and Cinna said brings the moment into crystal clear focus. This feeling is worth the threat of losing him. His love is worth the pain I might have to endure. He is worth all of it.

Between kisses, he tells me that he thought I was done with him. That what he had told me and what his mother had said were too much. That he was too much. He tells me that he went to see his mother this morning. That she will no longer be a part of his life. Even so, he was sure he had lost me. I deny all of it with words and with my body hoping he could hear and feel just how much he means to me. That he could never be too much. I admit my fears and he tells me that there’s nothing to be afraid of. He’s not going anywhere. 

Once we’ve exhausted ourselves, limbs entwined and curled into one another on the bed, I run my fingers through his hair watching his eyes flutter close. He reaches for my hand, pulling the pads of my fingers to his lips and gently kissing them.

“Tell me this is real. It feels like a dream. I think about every moment that brought us here and I would go through them all again just to hear you say those words. I never thought I would hear them.”

“I’ll tell you all the time until you believe it,” I whisper. “I love you. It’s real.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took a few days longer than usual. It has been a very long week. I hope you all have a great Sunday and the rest of your week!
> 
> This chapter was mostly fluff, but the next chapter will get into their visit to the districts and going home for a few days. There are only two-three more chapters left! That really depends on how long the next chapter ends up being. I may split it if it gets too long. 
> 
> As always, I appreciate all the love this story has gotten and every single person who has taken the time to leave a comment. I'm so very grateful!
> 
> You can find me on IG: isarnicole_everlark_fanfics


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